BANCROFT    LIBRARY 


HANDSET 
REMINISCENCES 


Recollections  of  an 
Old -Time  Printer 
and  Journalist 


By  J.  B.  GRAHAM 


Printed  by  the 

CENTURY  PRINTING  COMPANY 
Salt  Lake  City,  Utah 

1915 


COPYRIGHTED 
By  J.  B.  GRAHAM 

1915 


THE  AUTHOR 


Contents. 


THE   AUTHOR    Illustration 

EDWARD  T.  PLANK   Illustration 

TO   THE   PRINTING   FRATERNITY    7 

IN  LIEU  OF  A  FOREWARD 9-13 

ONCE  A  HOBO    15-49 

THE   UNDOING   OF   OLD    ORMSBY 50-56 

TRIBULATIONS  OF  A  TWO-THIRDER .  .      57-66 

NEW     YORK     HERALD     FIFTY     YEARS 

AGO 67-82 

IN  THE   EARLY   SIXTIES 83-124 

THE   FIRST    GREAT    SILVER    BOOM 125-166 

AN    INSPIRED    LIAR 167-175 

UNION  MAN  IN  A  RAT  HOLE 176-182 

SAVANNAH  JUST  AFTER  THE  WAR ...  183-190 

A    "TOURISTS'  "     STRIKE 191-197 

FOUR   YEARS  IN   GEHENNA 198-253 

FORTY   YEARS  AFTER    254-282 

MY    LAST    VENTURE     .  ..283-307 


TO  THE  MEMORY  OF  MY  OLD-TIME  FRIEND 
AND  SIDE-PARTNER  EDWARD  T.  PLANK  THIS 
VOLUME  IS  FRATERNALLY  DEDICATED. 


To  the  Printing  Fraternity 


"Handset  Reminiscences,"  having  been  pre- 
pared for  your  special  entertainment,  will  be 
sold  by  subscription  only.  I  am  assured  it  will 
be  read  sooner  or  later  by  most  printers. 
Please  don't  borrow  it. 

I  am  in  my  seventy-sixth  year;  was  in  the 
printing  business  over  fifty  years — carrying  a 
working  card  about  thirty,  the  rest  of  the  time 
"enjoying"  myself  as  "editor,  publisher  and 
proprietor"  of  country  newspapers. 

In  the  spring  of  1908,  before  the  printers' 
pension  law  became  operative,  I  was  placed  on 
the  retired  list  of  No.  115  because  of  disability. 
To  paraphrase,  my  eyes  were  bad  and  my 
fingers  queer. 

The  incidents  here  sketched  are  true — as 
nearly  to  the  letter  as  I  have  been  able  to  set 
them  down  between  regular  shifts  at  other 
labor. 

I  am  kindly  permitted  to  use  two  short 
stories  and  part  of  another  which  appeared 
years  ago  in  the  Inland  Printer,  under  the  head- 
ing "Handset  Reminiscences,"  also,  one  that 
was  published  in  the  International  Journal. 

Brethren,  I  shall  be  gratified  if  this  book  en- 
tertains you;  more  gratified  if  it  deserves  a  big 
sale  and  receives  it. 

Price  $1.25  postpaid.    'Send  orders  to 
Yours  fraternally, 

JERRY  B.  GRAHAM, 

214  E.  Fifth  South  St.,  -Salt  Lake  City,  Utah. 

March  1,  1915. 


EDWARD  T.  PLANK 
President  I.  T.  U.,  1888  to  1891 


In  Lieu  of  Foreword. 


As  this  book  is  made  up  of  anecdote's  re- 
lating to  myself,  is  in  the  nature  of  an  auto- 
biography and  there  is  little  to  explain,  a  fore- 
word seems  hardly  necessary,  But  In  the  be- 
ginning I  wish  to  apologize  for  the  crudities  of 
my  work.  I  was  not  educated  for  the  editorial 
profession,  or  any  other  for  that  matter.  As 
explained  in  one  of  the  sketches,  I  took  up 
the  pen  by  sheer  force  of  circumstances. 

I  hope  not  to  be  criticised  too  severely. 
The  greatest  authors  have  not  always  been 
those  who  could  command  faultless  language. 
J.  Fennimore  Cooper  in  his  day  was  the  most 
successful  American  writer  of  notion.  Millions 
of  readers  were  entranced  by  his  absorbing 
creations,  without  discovering  that  often  they 
were  not  only  preposterous  but  execrably 
written.  Even  the  queen  of  England  begged 
him  to  give  something  of  the  earlier  life  of 
Leather  stocking,  and  the  result  was  "The 
Deerslayer,"  first  volume  of  the  "Leather 
Stocking  Tales"  though  the  last  written.  But 
Mark  Twain  came  along,  and  pointed  out  that 
there  are  a  score  of  rasping  errors  of  composi- 
tion and  misfit  words  in  some  pages  of  those 
stories;  that  in  the  action,  for  instance,  Leather 
Stocking  shot  at  a  mark  and  with  wonderful 
accuracy  and  a  strange  rifle  hit  a  nailhead 
at  three  hundred  paces  that  could  not  be  seen 
at  fifty  with  a  spyglass;  while  his  marvelous 
woodcraft,  when  stripped  of  romance,  was  in 
many  details  unreal  and  absurd. 

H.  C.  Williams,  my  successor  as  editor  of 
the  Bingham  Bulletin,  inserted  in  that  paper 


HANDSET   REMINISCENCES 

the  following  personal  after  I  had  gone  to 
California 'and  when,  as  he  says,  I  was  unable 
to  defend  myself.  I  can  forgive  him  for  it, 
and  even  thank  him,  except  as  he  in  a  way 
puts  me  in  a  class  with  Judge  C.  C.  Goodwin, 
without  doubt  the  ablest  and  smoothest  news- 
paper writer  the  west  has  ever  produced.  Will- 
iams was  a  first-class  printer — -like  myself  not 
an  author,  born  or  made.  If  you  discover  crud- 
ities in  his  composition,  as  in  mine,  forget  it. 
Tread  lightly  on  the  tacks.  Let  the  pure  gold 
intended  obscure  the  dross. 

"When  men  of  courage  and  imagination 
came  into  these  mountain  solitudes  in  the 
early  days  they  became  transformed.  There 
was  no  sorbid  commercialism  to  soil  them; 
and  there  was  nothing  to  check  them  from 
being  absorbed  into  the  spirit  of  the  mountains 
and  forests  over  which  hovered  the  glamor  of 
purple  and  gold  of  the  setting  sun,  which 
men  had  seen  from  afar  since  the  birth  of 
history  and  have  finally  followed  until  the 
star  of  empire  sank  into  the  Pacific.  Call  it 
Colchis  or  California  these  men  were  of  the 
heroic  mold,  and  they  will  stand  always  heroic 
to  those  who  follow  and  bring  their  humdrum 
world  with  them  and  transform  the  grand  soli- 
tudes into  routine.  The  race  is  dead  or  dying 
and  most  all  of  them  will  soon  be 
altogether  heroic.  One  meets  relics  of 
it  now  and  then,  old  and  gray,  with 
their  large  hearts  and  lovable  natures  still  im- 
parting the  spirit  of  the  grand  solitudes  which 
they  absorbed  a  long  generation  ago;  and  so 
they  will  go  on  to  the  end,  for  the  beauty 
of  the  solitudes  that  transformed  them  will  not 
let  go  of  them. 

10 


IN  LIEU  OF  FOREWORD 

"The  editor  met  a  couple  of  these  aojourners 
a  dozen  years  ago  in  Salt  Lake  City,  and  if 
he  mentions  one  of  them  now  it  is  because 
he  is  away  and  cannot  exercise  the  veto  which 
his  retiring  dispositon  would  certainly  impose. 
One  was  "Jerry"'  and  the  other  was  "Judge. " 
And  it  is  only  to  the  world  that  knows  them 
not  that  they  become  plain  Mr.  Graham  and 
plain  Mr.  Goodwin — in  our  hearts  they  are 
Jerry  and  Judge,  and  so  only  I  and  others 
who  really  know  them  may  ever  think  of  them. 

"When  Mr.  Graham  severed  his  relations 
with  the  Bulletin  a  few  days  ago  he  closed 
a  newspaper  career  which  time  had  made 
romantic  and  to  which  rapid  change  in  western 
environment  has  lent  an  element  of  pathos. 

"In  1903  he  visited  California  and  while 
there  sought  for  such  friends  as  a  lapse  of 
forty  years  might  still  have  left.  With  128 
others  in  1861  he  was  a  member  of  Eureka 
Typographical  Union  No.  21.  A  record  had  been 
kept  of  their  comings  and  goings,  and  most  all 
of  them  had  gone,  to  not  return  there,  or  any- 
where. Himself  had  been  marked  "probably 
dead."  Of  the  whole  number  half-a-dozen  were 
left  in  Frisco,  and  a  few  others  were  still  alive 
but  elsewhere. 

"Equally  pathetic  was  his  visit  to  the  New 
York  Herald  office  about  five  years  ago.  He 
had  worked  there  in  the  days  of  the  elder 
Bennett,  in  1859  and  later.  Out  of  a  force  of 
upwards  of  two  hundred  in  that  year  not  one 
was  left,  and  the  oldest  man  in  the  office 
dated  from  1865.  Mr.  (Graham's  identity  was 
established  by  his  references  to  the  old  boys, 
who  were  still  reverently  remembered,  and  fin- 
ally by  the  payrolls  bearing  his  name.  He  at 

ll 


Once  a  Hobo. 


Strictly  speaking  this  story  is  out  of 
place  in  these  pages — going  back  as  it 
does  to  my  ante-handset  days;  but  as  it 
relates  a  most  vivid  memory,  that  had 
much  to  do  with  my  after  career  in  hav- 
ing bred  wanderlust  in  my  system,  it  is 
given  with  the,  hope  that  it  may  interest. 

Being  left  an  orphan  when  four  years 
old,  my  guardian  farmed  me  out  to  an 
aunt,  who  was  to  bring  me  up  in  the  way 
I  should  go  and  send  me  to  school. 

We  went  to  live  with  my  grandpar- 
ents in  Onondaga  county,  a  few  hours' 
ride  from  the  then  village  of  Syracuse — 
in  a  community  still  clinging  to  many 
quaint  customs  and  the  simple  life  of  the 
early  settlers. 

Grandfather's  weather-beaten  but  com- 
fortable house  was  small,  yet  contrived  to 
stow  away  a  dozen  guests  in  an  emer- 
gency, and  often  seated  as  many  at 
Thanksgiving  feasts  of  turkey,  Indian 
pudding  and  pumpkin  pies  that  might 
have  tempted  the  appetite  of  a  modern 
epicure.  All  the  cooking  was  done  by  a 
great  fireplace,  made  cheery  during  win- 
ter evenings  with  blazing  back-log  and 
four-foot  wood ;  while  beside  it  was  a 

IK 


HANDSET   REMINISCENCES 

brick  oven  in  which  a  week's  baking  could 
be  done  at  one  heating. 

Grandfather's  corner  by  the  fireplace, 
sacred  to  him,  was  often  encircled  on  win- 
ter nights  by  neighbors  who  came  to  hear 
him  tell  of  days  of  frontier  life  in  Con- 
necticut, when  Indians,  wolves,  cata- 
mounts and  other  "varmints"  had  to  be 
reckoned  with;  of  many  hair-raising 
ghosts  that  he  had  not  only  seen  but  talked 
with ;  of  being  a  lad  of  fourteen  when  the 
Revolutionary  war  ended,  and  practic- 
ing to  go  as  a  drummer  boy;  of  seeing, 
when  grown  to  manhood,  representatives 
to  congress  during  recess  sitting  bare- 
footed and  coatless  on  the  steps  of  the 
capitol,  eating  frugal  lunches.  (Never 
again !) 

At  8  o'clock  it  was  me  for  bed,  no  mat- 
ter if  the  wraith  of  Tecumseh  had  its  vic- 
tim by  the  hair ;  and  I  had  to  go  to  a  tiny 
attic  room  in  the  dark.  After  hearing  a 
hair-raising  story  I  would  unloose  my 
only  "gallus,"  climb  the  stairs  two  steps 
at  a  jump,  and  with  one  move  shed  "trous- 
ers" and  land  in  a  bank  of  feathers,  cover- 
ing my  head  until  nearly  smothered.  In 
the  midst  of  the  story-telling  a  pan  of  ap- 
ples and  a  pitcher  of  cider  from  the  cellar, 
with  chestnuts,  hickory  nuts,  beechnuts 
or  butternuts  from  the  garret,  would  be 

16 


ONCE  A  HOBO 

set  'before  the  guests.  Then  when  they 
were  gone,  the  embers  were  carefully 
banked,  to  preserve  a  "bed  of  live  coals  for 
morning.  Matches?  They  had  just  su- 
perceded  the  flint  and  steel  and  were  rare. 

•What  memories!  Of  the  days  of 
spring's  awakening  in  the  maple  woods, 
gathering  sap  to  t>e  boiled  to  sugar, 
amidst  the  cawing  of  crows  and  the  wel- 
come notes  of  robin  redbreast.  Then 
there  was  soap-making  day,  when  an  out- 
of-doors  fire  had  to  be  built,  and  the  big 
iron  kettle  was  in  use  again;  lye  was 
leached  from  fireplace  ashes,  saved  up 
during  winter  in  a  contrivance  that  looked 
like  a  pyramid  turned  turtle ;  and  soft  soap 
was  made — it  was  soap  all  right,  that  not 
only  cleansed  m;y  hands  of  dirt,  but  of 
skin  and  warts.  Then  in  November  came 
the  pig-sticking,  with  the  kettle  boiling 
again  to  scald  away  hair  and  bristles ;  and 
I  as  a  small  'boy  was  supposed  to  inflate 
bladders  and  make  rattle  boxes  of  them 
for  smaller  fry. 

In  those  days  there  could  be  no  thrifty 
economy  without  winter  stores  of  barrels 
of  salt  pork  and  beef.  No  one  of  the 
present  has  an  idea  of  the  many  uses  then 
for  fats  and  tallow,  albeit  oleomargerine 
and  kindred  abominations  were  unknown. 
Grandma  was  wont  to  fill  an  old  saucer 
with  lard,  placing  a  wick  in  it,  and  it  made 

17 


HANDSET   REMINISCENCES 

a  tolerable  light  by  which  she  would  sit 
for  hours  sewing  and  mending.  Did  you 
ever  see  or  hear  of  a  tallow  dip,  such  as 
was  used  before  the  era  of  ill-smelling 
fish-oil  lamps  ?  They  were  made  in  a  cold 
room,  where  I  had  to  thresh  my  hands  to 
keep  them  warm,  by  dipping  wicks — a 
dozen  at  a  time  strung  on  sticks — in  a 
boiler  of  warm  tallow,  repeating  until  they 
had  taken  on  the  required  coating.  How 
I  despised  that  job.  Then  came,  tin  molds 
— the  wonder  of  the  time — in  a  nest  of 
which  a  dozen  candles,  looking  much  like 
the  present  stearine  variety,  could  be 
cast  at  once.  Cowhide,  kipskin  and  calf- 
skin— they  were  the  only  materials  from 
which  boots  and  shoes  were  made.  So  if 
a  young  lady  could  not  abide  calfskin,  it 
was  beaded  moccasins  for  her  or  nothing. 
Here  again  was  use  for  tallow — besides 
rendering  leather  impervious  to  wet,  it 
made  it  pliable;  and  when  mixed  with 
lampblack  answering  for  blacking,  giving 
footwear  a  go-to-meeting  sleekness — for 
there  was  little,  real  blacking.  Unless  my 
little  kips  were  kept  saturated  some  one 
had  to  help  put  them  on  my  poor  callous- 
ed feet,  and  it  needed  two  men  and  a  boot- 
jack to  take  them  off. 

What  a  smell  greeted  one  on  opening 
the  cellar  door — an  odor  that  was  in  every 
household!  There  in  the  stairway  hung 

18 


ONCE  A  HOBO 

a  monster  codfish,  four  feet  long  if  an  inch 
—no  sturgeon  or  other  execrable  substi- 
tute then,  costing  not  more  than  fifty 
cents,  from  which  the  frugal  housewife 
could  strip  a  hundred  meals  as  needed. 
And  speaking  of  fish,  what  pride  I  felt 
wending  my  way  homeward  from  the 
old  mill  dam  lugging  a  string  of  suckers 
and  bullheads — all  same  catfish !  Ah,  the 
joy  of  roaming  in  brown  October  days 
through  the  deep  wild  woods,  gathering 
nuts  to  store  in  the  big  chest  for  winter! 
Many  were  the  happy  hours  I  spent  each 
season  hunting  "bumble"  bees'  nests, 
gathering  dandelions  and  cowslips  for 
greens,  and  picking  wild  berries. 

I  recall  the  small,  unventilated,  but 
dear  old  school  house,  with  a  single  room 
of  maybe  20x30  feet  and  an  8-foot  ceiling, 
where  thirty  to  forty  pupils  breathed  the 
same  air,  and  some  made  engagements 
with  tuberculosis  germs,  to  be  kept  in 
after  years ;  where,  the  teacher  went  over 
head  and  ears  if  he  ventured  beyond  ad- 
dition, multiplication  and  division  into 
simple  fractions;  where,  he  wore  out  an 
apple-tree  sprout  a  day,  and  more  if  he 
thought  they  were  needed ;  where  when  a 
lad  of  7,  I  marched  proudly  from  the  foot 
to  the  head  of  the  class  for  spelling 
"lucre,"  after  it  had  been  missed  twelve 

19 


HANDSET   KEMINISCENCES 

times  !by  twelve  dull  boys  in  their  teens ; 
where  we  played  "fox  and  gee.se''  on  the 
green  sward  before  -baseball  was  thought 
of;  where  w;e  got  licked  by  the  "farmer 
and  by  the  teacher  for  hooking  summer 
apples  from  hard-by  orchards;  where  all 
the  neighborhood,  or  as  many  as  could 
crowd  in,  gathered  to  witness  "David  and 
Goliath,"  "Old  M|other  Hubbard"  and 
other  school  exhibits — the  nearest  ap- 
proach to  sure  enough  theatricals  >they 
had  ever  seen. 

Is  life  happier  or  more  enjoyed  in 
these  whizzing,  toot-tooting  times  than  it 
was  then  ?  Show  me  ! 

My  aunt  devoutly  believed  in  the  old 
saw,  "Spare  the  rod  and  spoil  the  child." 
I  had  already  been  spoiled  so  she  earnest- 
ly knocked  the  dust  out  of  me  on  an  av- 
erage of  twice  a  day  until  I  had  reached 
my  ninth  year.  But  she  was  always  just, 
and  loved  me. 

My  experience  as  a  child  makes  me 
now  a  thorough  believer  in  the  virtue  con- 
tained in  an  apple-tree  spout.  A  gad  of 
some  kind  was  responsible  for  much  of 
the  good — if  any — in  my  present  makeup. 

What  a  lesson  is  contained  in  this  lit- 
tle incident !  A  playmate  asked  me  to  go 
a  fishing  with  him  one  Sunday.  I  prom- 

20 


ONCE  A  HOBO 

ised  to  do  so,  albeit  such  "doings"  on  the 
Sabbath  day  were  strictly  interdicted.  He 
called  for  me  and  I  asked  consent. 

"Certainly  not,"  was  the  answer.  "You 
know  better." 

"But  I  promised  Johnny  to  go  with 
him." 

"You  did?  Then  get  ready,"  and  my 
aunt  placed  a  nice  lunch  in  my  pocket, 
and  kissed  me. 

That  night  I  got  a  sound  threshing 
for  giving  my  word  to  do  something  I 
knew  was  wrong;  and  so  it  was  impressed 
upon  me  for  life  that  I  must  never  give 
my  word  to  do  a  thing  and  not  do  it. 

Today  I  not  only  believe  in  corporal 
punishment  for  the  child,  administered  in 
proper  spirit,  but  also  that  it  was  an  evil 
day  when  the  public  whipping  post  was 
abolished.  Public  punishment  got  down 
under  the  hide  of  a  culprit  and  brought  to 
the  surface  any  sense  of  shame  left  in  him. 
It  outclassed  breaking  rock  and  prison 
grub  in  holding  criminals  in  check,  and 
cost  a  heap  less. 

Like  most  orphans  I  was  pointed  out 
as  such,  sympathized  with  and  fed  pie  and 
cake  by  kindly  old  dames  of  the  neighbor- 
hood, also  often  told  that  when  of  age  1 
was  to  come  into  a  small  fortune — all  of 
which  made  my  head  swell  faster  than 

21 


HANDSET   REMINISCENCES 

my  body  grew.  Accordingly,  the  idea 
being  drilled  into  my  system  that  to  be 
an  orphan  raised  me  to  a  superior  order  of 
being,  as  I  became  older  I  developed  as 
a  conceited,  self-conscious  and  disagree- 
able sort  of  kid.  But  maybe  early  con- 
ceit made  me.  nervy  and  served  a  good 
turn  later  on,  for  when  thrown  on  my 
own  resources  I  had  to  do  and  did  some 
nervy  things. 

In  the  spring  of  1848 — my  ninth  year 
— I  was  sent  back  to  the  old  homestead  to 
spend  a  season  with  my  brothers  and  sis- 
ters, who  were  leasing  it  from  the  estate. 

It  was  the  happiest  season  of  my  life. 
With  a  sporty  dog  for  a  playmate,  how 
the  days  flew  by,  in  the  woods  and  green 
fields  and  by  the  brook,  hunting  and  fish- 
ing! 

"How  dear  to  this  heart  are  the  scenes  of  my 

childhood, 
What   fond    recollections    present   them   to 

view — 
The  orchard,   the   meadow   and   deep   tangled 

wildwood, 

And    every    fond    spot    which    my    infancy 
knew." 

They  were  all  there,  and  every  picture 
as  I  recall  it  seems  as  bright  today  as 
then.  But  ah,  the  dear  ones,  long  gone ! 

My  aunt  had  married  a  lackadaisical 
sooner,  who  for  convenience  I  shall  have 


ONCE  A  HOBO 

to  call  uncle.  Aside  from  having  a  game 
eye  that  made  him  seem  like  he  was  al- 
ways squinting  along  a  gun  barrel,  he 
wasn't  bad  to  look  at;  but  I  must  believe 
she  was  moved  to  hook  on  to  her  very 
last  chance,  having  passed  to  the  strictly 
old  maid  estate.  His  general  appearance 
suggested  a  habit  of  sitting  by  the  fire  or 
in  the  sun  for  considerable  periods,  gath- 
ering dust  that  was  seldom  brushed  away. 
And  he  sang  psalms  through  his  nose. 

They  came  through  Rochester  in  the 
fall,  on  their  way  to  the  wilds  of  Illinois 
to  take  up  land,  and  had  planned  that  the 
orphan  was  to  go  with  them.  My  uncle 
had  swelled  me  up  with  stories  of  hunting 
rabbits  and  prairie  chickens ;  and  I  was  to 
have  a  gun  of  my  own,  and  furnish  the 
family  with  game.  So  I  was  crazy  to 
go;  but  my  guardian  had  made  arrange- 
ments for  my  entering  school,  and  posi- 
tively forbade  it. 

That  did  not  fease  my  aunt,  for  I  was 
like  a  son  to  her.  Having  a  will  of  her 
own,  she  took  me  with  them. 

What  is  now  known  as  the  far  west 
was  then  down  on  the  maps  as  the  "Great 
American  Desert,"  and  was  practically 
unexplored  until  in  the  following  year, 
when  the  rush  to  the  gold  fields  of  Cali- 
fornia was  on.  Illinois,  Wisconsin  and 

23 


HANDSET   REMINISCENCES 

Missouri  were  of  the  far  west,  and  Kan- 
sas, Iowa  and  Nebraska  unknown.  Ohio, 
Michigan  and  Indiana  were  called  the 
west.  I  refer  to  these  conditions  so  it 
will  be  the  better  appreciated  that  a  New 
York  family  emigrating  to  Illinois  were 
looked  upon  as  just  about  moving  off  of 
the  known  earth,  and  long  farewells  were 
said.  How  my  uncle  ever  got  a  hump  on 
to  take  so  serious  a  step  is  more  than  I 
can  tell.  The  broad  acres  of  the  plains 
did  not  have  to  be  cleared,  were  rich  and 
easily  tilled,  and  it  may  be  he,  thought  he 
would  be  able  to  make  an  easier  living 
there. 

The  journey  of  that  day  to  the  far  west 
is  worth  describing.  Many  made  it  in 
covered  wagons — prairie  schooners — • 
from  eastern  states  along  the  shores  of 
Lake  Erie  and  Lake  Michigan  through 
Ohio  and  Indiana,  though  more  proceeded 
via  the  Erie  canal  to  Buffalo  and  thence 
around  the  great  lakes  to  Milwaukee  and 
Chicago.  The  New  York  Central  railroad 
had  been  extended  up  through  the  state 
to  Buffalo,  but  railroading  was  expensive, 
and  many  could  not  be  hired  to  ride  after 
an  engine.  With  simple  country  people 
there  was  a  dread  of  the  strange  machine 
on  wheels,  and  of  bumping  over  the  crude, 
badly-laid  rails,  of  a  kin  with  the  antipa- 

24 


ONCE  A  HOBO 

thy  of  a  chink  for  "foreign  devils."     We 
took  the  water  way. 

Imagine;  a  two-days  journey  from  Ro- 
chester to  Buffalo — seventy-eight  miles! 
After  the  novelty  wore  off  there  was  lit- 
tle to  make  the  time  pass  except  dodging 
low  'bridges,  sympathizing  with  the,  crip- 
pled, half-fed  tow  horses,  and  now  and 
then  disturbing1  a  skunk  on  the  towpath. 
A  welcomed  diversion  was  when,  passing 
a  tempting  looking  orchard,  some  traveler 
would  jump  ashore,  fill  his  pockets  with 
fruit  and  jump  back  again  before  the 
"Sarah  Ann"  had  made,  more  than  a  few 
lengths. 

At  Buffalo  we  took  passage  on  the 
steamer  "Niagara."  In  size  it  must  have 
been  a  marvel  of  the  time,  for  there  were 
on  board  1,200  passengers — more  than 
half  in  the  steerage.  My,  that  steerage 
was  a  bouquet!  The  cabin  ladies  soon 
became  experts  in  keeping  to  windward 
of  its  gangway. 

In  these  days  of  forty  miles  an  hour 
few  travelers  go  from  Buffalo  through 
Lake  Erie,  the  Detroit  river,  Lake  St. 
Clair,  Lake  Huron,  "around  the  horn" 
through  the  straits  of  Mackinaw  and 
down  Lake  Michigan  to  the  "great  white 
city."  O'ne  is  never  out  of  sight  of  land 
during  the  journey;  and  to  my  mind,  with 

25 


HANDSET    REMINISCENCES 

the  many  ports  and  villages  along  the 
route,  with  fleets  of  sailing  vessels  coming 
and  going,  it  affords  more  of  interest  and 
pleasure  to  the  tourist  than  any  other  trip 
by  water  I  have  ever  taken. 

Of  the  several  lakes  Erie  is  best  re- 
membered, if  traveled  in  a  storm.  A 
writer  well  describes  it  in  these  lines: 

"She's  shallow  an'  muddy  an'  mean, 

She's  chuck  full  of  sandbars  an'  such, 
She's  pretty  when  ca'm  an'  serene, 

But  she's  never  that  way  very  much. 
You  hardly  kin  sail  by  the  chart, 

Her  shoals  keep  a-shiftin'  around; 
You'll  think  that  you  know  her  by  heart 
When — crunch!  an'  yer  boat  is  aground. 
She's  blowsy  an'  bleary, 
An'  nasty,  is  Erie 
An'  allus  just  ripe  fer  a  squall; 
She  makes  us  all  weary 
An'  ugly,  does  Erie, 
The  meanest  old  lake  of  them  all." 

Many  of  our  passengers  disembarked 
at  Milwaukee,  then  a  small  cluster  of 
low,  wooden  buildings  and  a  stranger  to 
beer.  Chicago  itself,  hardly  entitled  to 
be  called  a  city,  was  rushed  with  its  car- 
rying trade  around  the  lakes. 

I  remerriber  we  secured  a  two-wheeled 
dray  to  transfer  our  baggage  to  a  "hotel," 
distant  a  few  hundred  yards  from  the 
pier.  En  route  on  Clark  street  it  got 
stuck  in  the  mud,  and  was  pried  loose 
with  rails  from  a  zigzag  fence  on  that 


ONCE  A  HOBO 

street.  Who  shall  say  it  was  not  Abra- 
ham Lincoln  himself  who  with  beetle  and 
wedge,  mauled  out  those  same  rails,  be- 
fore he  was  even  an  humble  lawyer? 

The  hotel  proper,  built  of  logs,  con- 
sisted of  several  sleeping-rooms,  and  a 
sitting-room,  dining-room  and  kitchen  all 
in  one.  It  was  in  the  rear  of  a  small  gro- 
cery, through  which  the  guests  had  to 
pass  owing  to  knee-deep  black  mud  on 
either  side;  and  it  was  doing  a  flourish- 
ing business. 

Between  the  hotel  and  the  lake — a 
distance  of  about  two  hundred  yards — 
there  was  only  one  building.  Fancy  a 
proud  Clark  street  property  owner  of  to- 
day admitting  that  such  a  condition  ex- 
isted on  that  great  thoroughfare,  or  any 
other  of  Chicago's  main  streets,  only 
sixty-five  years  ago  or  at  any  other  time 
since  the  days  of  Noah! 

We  traveled  via  the  Chicago  &  North- 
western railroad  to  its  then  terminus — the 
little  village  of  St.  Charles,  on  Fox  river, 
ten  miles  from  the  present  city  of  Elgin. 
That  bit  of  road,  mind  you,  was  the  only 
railroad  west  of  Lake  Michigan  in  the 
United  States !  It  had  no  depot  or  other 
buildings.  At  Chicago  it  occupied  for  a 
freight  yard  an  acre  or  more  of  prai- 
rie, without  even  a  fence  around  it,  piled 

27 


HANDSET   REMINISCENCES 

with  immense  quantities  of  baggage, 
household  goods  and  merchandise,  des- 
tined for  St.  Charles  and  points  beyond. 
The  great  rush  "To  the  West !"  was  on. 

Our  journey  to  the  wilderness  ended 
in  a  lumber  wagon  ride  to  a  farm  about 
ten  miles  northwest  of  St.  Charles.  There 
was  a  small  log  house  on  it,  occupied  by 
the,  good-sized  family  of  my  uncle's  sister. 
There  being  five  in  our  bunch  we  had  to 
hang  on  pegs,  which  stimulated  my  uncle 
to  get  another  move  on,  in  the  same 
month.  He  rented  a  farm  of  a  man  who, 
lured  by  the  gold  lust  of  '49,  started  with 
his  son  for  California  overland. 

Within  a  week  I  was  set  to  plowing, 
with  a  pair  of  frisky  three-year-old  steeis. 
My  shoulders  wiere  not  much  higher  than 
the  plow  handles;  though  the  friable  soil 
being  without  rock  or  other  obstruction, 
the  plow  when  started  would  run  itself  to 
furrow  end.  There  trouble  began,  for  it 
being  double  my  weight,  to  set  it  in  the 
next  furrow  taxed  my  utmost  strength. 
Then  when  the  steers  had  made  a  "bout" 
and  the  point  was  out,  they  had  a  playful 
way  of  lifting  their  tails  and  stampeding 
for  a  haystack  several  hundred  yards 
distant. 

I  was  kept  at  this  soulful  occupation 
for  several  weeks,  until  a  considerable 

28 


ONCE  A  HOBO 

field  had  been  turned  over,  during  which 
there  was  no  time  to  think  of  a  gun  or 
hunting,  and  I  wias  more  dead  than  alive 
with  'bruises  and  aching  bones. 

To  mention  all  the  "hired  man's  work'* 
that  was  imposed  upon  me  while  I  was 
on  that  farm  would  challenge  belief. 
Think  of  any  lad  in  his  tenth  year,  and 
you  will  appreciate  what  my  size  and 
strength  was,  and  the  brutal  cruelty  of  it 
all. 

There  was  a  public  school  house 
across  the  road  from  our  place.  Not  for 
me — I  didn't  see  the  inside  of  it,  except 
at  a  psalm  singing  one  Sunday,  with  my 
uncle  as  leader.  When  it  came  to  sing- 
ing "Old  Hundred,"  that  man  could 
stampede  a  jackass.  He  probably  had 
prize  material  in  him  for  a  sky  pilot's  as- 
sistant, but  on  a  farm  there  was  little  de- 
mand for  his  kind  of  talent.  He  would 
"putter"  around  the  barn  every  day  until 
after  dinner,  then  with  an  old  shotgun 
stroll  out  on  the  prairie,  ^l  never  heard 
him  shoot.  If  there  was  a  scrub  tree  in 
his  vicinity  I  expected  to  see  him  lying 
in  its  shade,  asleep  or  watching  me. 

Soon  an  awful  feeling  of  homesickness 
came,  over  me.  Sleeping  or  waking,  it 
was  ever  present.  Waking,  I  was  think- 
ing of  the  dear  ones  on  the  old  farm  and 


HANDSET   REMINISCENCES 

despairing  of  ever  seeing  them  again.  At 
night,  after  crying  myself  to  sleep,  with 
"Old  Jack"  for  my  companion  I  wandered 
through  "orchard  and  meadow,  and  deep 
tangled  wildwood,"  and  drank  from  "the 
'bucket  that  hung  in  the  well." 

One  afternoon  for  some  trivial  thing 
my  uncle  punished  me — with  the  toe  of 
his  boot.  In  kicking  the  little  freckled, 
homesick  lad,  did  he  press  the,  limit?  He 
was  soon  given  some  reason  to  think  so. 
When  evening  came,  without  waiting  to 
"go  after  the  cows"  or  my  supper  I  hit 
the  road.  Not  knowing  where  I  was  go- 
ing I  was  sure  on  my  way,  running. to- 
ward St.  Charles.  By  10  o'clock  I  had 
arrived  there;  and  a  kind  landlord,  after 
hearing  my  story  and  with  doubled  fists 
interviewing  some  black  and  blue  boot 
prints,  gave  me  a  good  supper  and  put 
me  to  bed. 

It  was  not  a  restful  night,  for  when 
dreaming  I  thought  my  uncle  and  his 
game  eye  caught  up  with  and  leered  at 
me;  and  old  Jack  and  I  chased  myriads 
of  squirrels  into  holes  and  trees  and  lost 
them. 

I  was  up  at  dawn — that  being  my 
time  for  turning  out,  or  being  thrown  out. 
As  I  emerged  from  the  inn  door  in  the 
twilight  I  ran  against  a  man,  who  proved 

30 


ONCE  A  HOBO 

to  be  my  uncle.  It  was  noticeable  that 
"he  seemed  more  in  sorrow  than  in 
anger" — like  he  was  about  to  break  out 
with  "Hark  from  the  Tombs,"  or  some 
other  mournful  favorite. 

"Why  did  you  leave  home,"  he  asked. 
"I've  been  riding  over  the  country  for 
you  all  night,  until  I  came  here." 

"I've  got  prints  of  your  boot  on  me, 
that's  why,  and  I'll  not  stand  it  to  be 
kicked  by  anybody  any  more,"  I  said,  be- 
ginning to  cry.  "My  home  is  at  Roches- 
ter, and  there's  where  I'm  going." 

"But  you  can't  travel  so  far  without 
money,  ragged  and  dirty.  I've,  been 
thinking,  and  you  must  go  with  me  now. 
Aunt  is  wild  about  you.  In  the  fall,  if 
you  are  a  good  boy,  I  will  buy  you  new 
clothes  and  send  you  back  to  your  guard- 
ian." 

He  was  parleying,  which  made  me 
brave  as  a  sheep.  A  feeling  had  come 
over  me  that  my  ears  were  in  no  danger 
that  morning  of  being  twisted. 

"Am  I  to  be  kicked  any  more?" 

"I  was  very  angry,  my  boy,  or  would 
not  have  done  that." 
"Did  I  deserve  it?" 

"I  can  say  no,  for  I'm  no  longer  angry, 
and  glad  to  have  found  you,  for  your 
aunt's  sake." 

31 


HANDSET   REMINISCENCES 

The  landlord  was  standing  in  the  door 
and  overheard  this  conversation. 

"Is  this  boy  your  nephew?"  he  asked. 

"His  aunt  is  my  wife." 

"I  heard  you  say  he  would  have  to  go 
back  with  you." 

"Yes." 

"He  don't  have  to,"  and  the  fists 
doubled  again.  "If  I  had  room  for  him 
he  should  not  stir  a  step.  If  he  goes 
back,  you  will  have  to  get  him  some 
shoes." 

"I  have  no  money,"  my  uncle  sullenly 
answered. 

"Then  come  in,  'both  of  you,  have 
breakfast,  and  I'll  see  about  the  shoes." 

When  we  had  eaten  the  landlord  took 
me  to  a  store,  from  which  I  soon  proudly 
emerged  in  red  top  boots  and  a  pocket 
full  of  sweetmeats.  As  we  were  about 
to  depart  the  landlord  took  my  hand 
kindly  and  spoke  words  of  encourage- 
ment. Then  he  turned  to  my  uncle. 

"I  heard  you  tell  the  lad  you  would 
clothe  and  send  him  home  this  fall.  Keep 
your  word  by  October,  or  I'll  be  out  your 
way  with  the  sheriff,  and  you'll  wish  we 
hadn't  come." 

My  uncle,  drove  away  without  a  word 
but  a  squint  that  boded  me  no  good. 
When  we  reached  the  farm  and  the  coast 

32 


ONCE  A  HOBO 

was  clear,  my  aunt  took  me  in  her  arms, 
•kissed  me  and  cried.  Then  she  knelt  and 
prayed  that  she  might  never  do  me,  a 
wrong;  that  I  would  always  try  to  do 
right,  and  that  my  uncle  might  never  be 
so  harsh  with  me  again.  After  that  I 
knew  she  sympathized  with  me,  which 
went  a  long  way  toward  making  me  more 
contented.  Though  she  had  taken  down 
the,  switch  every  day,  it  would  have  been 
all  right.  The  work  given  me  to  do  from 
this  time  was  much  lighter,  and  once  I 
was  actually  allowed  to  go  a  fishing  with 
a  young  lad.  Previously  I  had  not  been 
permitted  to  play  with  other  boys. 

A  couple  of  months  later  one  morn- 
ing my  uncle  told  me  to  split  some  wood. 
There  was  a  pile  of  dry  knots  in  the  yard 
at  which  I  had  been  pecking  all  summer, 
until  it  seemed  impossible  with  my 
strength  to  loosen  another  chip.  When  I 
told  him  so  he  flew  into  a  rage,  and  seiz- 
ing me  by  the  hair  again  applied  his  cow- 
hides to  the  locality  where  they  had  be- 
fore left  their  marks.  Then  'he  mounted 
a  horse  and  started  for  a  nearby  farm. 

Did  ihe  ever  see  that  erring,  freckle- 
faced  orphan  again?  Don't  you  think  it. 

M'y  aunt  was  in  childbed,  helpless,  so 
the  get-a-way  was  easy.  I  cried  half  the 
way  to  St.  Charles,  for  having  to  leave 

33 


HANDSET   REMINISCENCES 

her  without  a  kiss  or  parting  word.  But 
my  teeth  were  set,  and  all  the  conceit  the 
old  crones  had  planted  in  my  system  was 
turned  to  nerve. 

My  good  friend  the  landlord  was  glad 
to  see  me  and  said  I  should  stay  with  him 
until  he  could  get  word  from  my  guard- 
ian. This  I  would  not  listen  to,  afraid 
of  another  capture  and  surrender.  On 
going  to  the  depot  and  finding  the  one- 
train-a-day  about  to  pull  out,  I  went 
straight  to  the  conductor  and  told  him 
my  story — rehearsed  on  the  way — how  I 
was  an  orphan,  had  been  stolen,  kicked 
and  abused,  and  wanted  to  go  to  my 
home  in  York  state.  He  not  only  put 
me  on  board,  but  gave  me  kind  advice 
and  some  pennies ;  and  so  the.  little  hobo 
was  soon  rumbling  over  the  prairie,  sorry 
to  have  left  his  landlord  friend  without  a 
parting  word  but  overjoyed  with  the 
thought  that  he  was  on  the  way. 

It  must  have  been  2  o'clock  in  the 
afternoon  when  the  train  pulled  into  Chi- 
cago. Here  a  temporary  depot  had  been 
built,  and  conditions  were  otherwise  so 
changed  that  I  lost  my  way  directly.  My 
plan  was  to  go  to  the.  lake  front  and  get 
passage  on  some  kind  of  vessel;  for  I 
knew  no  other  way. 

I  had  walked  some  time,  and  my  cour- 
age was  beginning  to  ooze,  with  now  and 

34 


ONCE  A  HOBO 

then  a  tear  trickling,  when  I  met  up  with 
a  benevolent-looking  old  gentleman  walk- 
ing with  a  cane  and  crutch. 

"What  you  crying  for,  son?"  he  asked 
me. 

"Nothing." 

"Then  why  do  you  cry?" 

"I  was  just  thinkin'." 

"What  about?  Maybe  I  can  help 
you." 

He  finally  pried  it  out  of  me  that  I 
had  run  away,  and  was  on  my  way  to  my 
old  home  at  Rochester. 

"Well,  for  lands  sake !  You  expecting 
to  go  there  alone?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Boy,  don't  you  know  Rochester  is  a 
thousand  miles  from  here,  and  that  it 
would  be  impossible,  for  you  to  go  so 
far?  Why,  you'd  lose  your  way  and 
never  be  heard  of  again." 

"I'm  going  to  try,"  I  said,  and  was 
about  to  move  on  when  he  reached  for 
my  collar.  As  he  grabbed,  his  crutch 
slipped  and  down  he  went.  After  run- 
ning a  few  steps  I  looked  back,  fearing  he 
had  hurt  himself.  His  face  was  very  red, 
like  he  was  angry  at  sitting  down  so  hard. 

"Here,  you  young  scalawag,  come 
back." 

35 


HANDSET   REMINISCENCES 

But  I  ran  half  a  mile  without  stop- 
ping. After  that  I  did  not  dare  to  ask 
questions,  t>ut  bewildered  and  uncertain 
wandered  on  until  I  came  to  a  high  board 
fence,  and  climbed  it  to  prospect.  See- 
ing a  smokestack  and  a  vessel's  rigging 
in  the  distance,  I  made  for  them  at  once. 

The  rest  was  easy.  Never  did  good 
fortune  come  more,  opportunely  to  a 
friendless  lad,  save  in  story  book,  sum- 
moned by  fairy's  wand. 

The  smokestack  was  that  of  the  pro- 
peller "St.  Joe,"  bound  for  Buffalo.  I 
went  on  board,  and  one  of  the  sailors 
told  me  she  was  getting  up  steam,  to 
cast  off  in  a  couple  of  hours.  He  pointed 
out  the  captain,  a  tall  gaunt  man  with 
kindly  eyes,  whose  face  I  had  to  look 
nearly  straight  up  to  see.  Standing 
by  the  hatches  he  was  busily  checking  the 
last  of  the  cargo  as  it  was  being  lowered. 
Men  were  tugging  at  boxes  and  bales, 
and  there  was  such  an  uproar  I  despaired 
of  his  hearing  my  tale  of  woe,  but  re- 
peated it  loud  and  earnestly.  I  must 
have  done  myself  credit ;  for  after  waiting 
a  full  minute,  and  when  about  backing 
up  to  go  over  it  again,  he  suddenly 
doubled  up  until  his  face  was  within  six 
inches  of  mine,  and  in  a  shrill  voice 
shouted : 

36 


ONCE  A  HOBO 

"What's  that  you  say,  you  young 
rat?" 

I  was  so  scared  I  must  have  fallen  into 
the  hold  but  for  his  grabbing  me.  And  I 
began  to  cry. 

"There,  sonny,"  he  said,  "don't  do  that 
or  we'll  have  bad  luck.  See  that  gang- 
way f  or'ard  ?  Go  down,  to  the  galley  and 
tell  the  cook  I  said  you  are  going  to  wash 
dishes  this  trip ;  and  try  to  help  him  every 
way  you  can.  Scud,  now,  for  I'm  busy." 

So  I  was  booked  for  Buffalo!  Once 
there,  I  thought,  home  would  be  in  sight. 
It  proved  to  be  different. 

Before  time  for  turning  in  that  night 
the  St.  Joe  was  buffeted  by  a  chopping 
sea,  and  a  little  land  lubber  had  heaved 
his  supper  to  the  fishes  of  Lake  Michi- 
gan. Sick  as  I  was,  the  thought  of  how 
those  people  out  on  the  prairie  would 
marvel  if  they  knew  the  boy  who  left 
them  at  9  o'clock  that  morning  was  now 
aboard  a  steamer  on  its  way  around  the 
great  lakes.  It  had  been  really  a  wonder- 
fully lucky  trip.  I  had  traveled  less  than 
seventy-five  miles;  but  in  that  distance 
the  chances  were  many  to  one  of  my 
meeting  with  obstructions  to  detain  if 
not  turn  me  back.  The  average  person 
on  meeting  me  would  say,  "It  is  my  duty 

37 


HANDSET   REMINISCENCES 

to  stop  this  child  and  see  him  returned  to 
his  people."  Nowadays,  with  boxcars 
and  brakebeams  everywhere,  kids  with 
eye-teeth  cut  make  their  way  across  the 
continent.  Then  it  was  rare  for  a  boy 
to  go  five  miles  from  home  alone,  and  I 
certainly  must  have  been  the  pioneer 
child  hobo  of  that  date. 

The  return  lake  trip  made  few  im- 
pressions on  me  still  remembered.  I  do 
not  forget  that,  it  being  in  the  summer  of 
1849,  everybody  had  the  gold  fever  and 
all  on  board  the  St.  Joe — captain,  mates, 
crew  and  passengers — were  humming 
snatches  of  California  songs.  The  first 
lines  of  one  favorite  were: 

"Meet   me  on   the  four   square    early   in    the 

morning, 
For,   oh,    I'm   off  for   California   right  away." 

A  comic  one,  very  popular  and  not 
yet  wholly  extinct,  began  this  way: 


"I  had  a  dream  the  other  night 
When  all  around  was  still, 
I  thought  I   saw   Susanna  bright, 

A  coming  down  the  hill. 
The  buckwheat  cake  was  in  her  mouth, 

The  tear  was  in  her  eye; 
Says   I,  I'm  going  to  leave  you  now, 
Susanna  don't  you  cry. 

Oh,  Susanna,  don't  you  cry  for  me, 
I'm  going  to  California  with 
My  wash  bowl  on  my  knee." 

38 


ONCE  A  HOBO 

It  was  an  agreeable  variation  from 
the  incessant  rolling  and  puffing  of  the 
old  high-pressure  propeller.  The  cargo 
was  mostly  baled  cotton.  There,  was  a 
terrier,  a  cat  and  plenty  of  rats  on  board, 
and  my  recollection  is  that  I  spent  more 
time  chasing  over  the  cotton  and  hunting 
rodents  than  in  helping  the  cook.  I  made 
a  number  of  figure-four  traps,  and  caught 
so  many  of  the  creatures  the.  sailors  nick- 
named me  "Rat-catcher;"  and  as  they 
were  doing  much  damage,  I  got  a  nice 
compliment  and  a  shilling  from  the  cap- 
tain. 

As  I  awoke  one  morning  the  St.  Joe 
was  making  fast  to  her  pier  in  Buffalo. 
All  on  board  being  cheered  by  the  pros- 
pect of  soon  going  ashore,  no  one  took 
notice  of  the  little  hobo,  who  left  the 
gang  plank  without  a  parting  word  from 
any  one.  I  was  in  a  crying  mood  for  it 
was  a  cold,  rainy  morning,  all  was 
strange  and  forbidding,  and  such  a  feeling 
of  being  deserted  came  over  me  I  almost 
wished  myself  back  where  again  could  be 
heard  my  aunt's  motherly  voice.  Then  I 
seemed  to  hear  a  strain  through  the  nose 
of  "Hark  from  the  Tombs,"  and  it  set 
my  teeth  again,  all  right. 

My  plan  now  was  to  find  the  Erie 
canal  and  a  boat  going  to  Rochester. 
When  at  length  after  much  trudging  I 


HANDSET   REMINISCENCES 

came  to  what  was  probably  a  branch  like 
a  railroad  sidetrack,  I  found  it  blockaded 
with  a  long  stretch  of  empty  freighters, 
like  strings  of  cars  awaiting  consign- 
ments. The  sight  must  have  given  me 
the  impression  that  the  canal  had  gone 
out  of  business,  for  I  resumed  my  wan- 
derings and  walked  until  I  came  to  an  im- 
miense  building,  which  proved  to  be  the 
Nlew  York  Central  depot.  In  front  of  it 
was  a  peanut  stand,  with  the  usual  spread 
of  nuts,  fruits,  stale  cakes  and  candies, 
attended  by  a  poorly-dressed,  cross-eyed 
man  with  a  wooden  leg,  whom  I  recog- 
nized as  having  once  seen  at  the  old  farm. 
Cross-eyes  and  wooden  legs  are  seldom 
forgotten.  My,  how  my  heart  jumped! 
He  was  looking  at  me  intently.  I  asked 
him  if  he  had  ever  lived  in  Rochester. 

"Yes." 

"Were  you  at  the  Graham  farm  once 
for  a  load  of  potatoes?" 

"Yes." 

"Do  you  know  Mitchell  Loder,  the 
lawyer?" 

"Why,  yes;  and  you  are  one  of  the 
Joseph  Graham  heirs?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Where  on  earth  have  you  come  from  ? 
Rurf  away?  Somebody  take  your  clothes 
away  from  you?" 

40 


ONCE  A  HOBO 

Then  I  told  him  how  I  had  just  ar- 
rived that  morning  from  Chicago,  and 
why.  He  looked  at  me  in  amazement. 
After  asking  numerous  questions  he  said : 

"I'll  fix  it  so  you  can  go  on  the  pas- 
senger at  5  o'clock.  I  live  over  there  in 
that  house,"  pointing  to  a  low,  mean- 
looking  shack.  "Go  tell  my  wife  I  sent 
you  to  split  some  wood,  and  when  you 
get  through  she  is  to  give  you  something 
to  eat;  and  be  sure  to  'be  on  hand  when 
the  train  goes." 

Taking  advantage  of  a  miserable  little 
waif  in  the  interest  of  thrift  was  not  al- 
together unknown  in  that  day  and  gener- 
ation. 

A  sharp-faced,  hawk-nosed  woman 
met  me  at  the  door,  and  in  answer  to  the. 
message  pointed  to  a  pile  of  poles.  I 
worked  at  them  a  long  time,  earned  a 
square  meal  for  a  couple  of  hungry 
adults,  and  showing  up  again  the  old 
dame  handed  me  a  couple,  of  cookies.  My 
memory  is  very  clear  that  there  were 
just  two  of  them,  hard  and  gritty;  and 
they  looked  like  they  had  been  used  a 
long  time  on  the  peanut  stand  for  flies 
to  roost  on.  I  gagged,  even  with  my 
sailor's  appetite. 

At  5  o'clock  the  peanut  man  kept  his 
word — fixed  me,  good  and  plenty.  He 
told  me  to  stand  on  the  rear  platform 

41 


HANDSET    REMINISCENCES 

until  the  train  started,  and  tell  the  con- 
ductor when  he  came  around  I  had  lost 
my  ticket.  I  did  not  take  to  the  plan,  but 
thought  it  must  be  all  right  or  would  not 
have  been  told  to  do  it.  The  conductor 
eyed  me  sharply,  and  without  a  word 
reached  for  the  bell  rope, 

This  was  my  first  lie — on  the  trip. 
What  an  opportunity  it  affords  me  to 
moralize  a  little.  Mty  reflection  is  that 
had  I  told  the  truth,  after  my  eventful 
journey  thus  far  the  conductor  would 
gladly  have  helped  me  the.  rest  of  the 
way. 

I  was  soon  sitting  by  the  track,  at  a 
barren  place  except  there  was  a  crossing 
and  the  old-fashioned  sign,  "Look  Out 
for  the  Cars  when  the  Bell  Rings."  It 
was  my  turn  to  cry  again.  I  was  sobbing 
bitterly,  when  a  man  with  a  dinner  pail 
came  along  and  asked  what  was  the  mat- 
ter. I  told  him  how  I  had  been  put  off 
the  train. 

"Serves  you  right,  my  boy.  You'd 
better  go  back  to  the  city  and  try  again 
tomorrow,  when  there  will  be  another 
conductor.  Tell  him  the  truth  and  he 
may  let  you  ride." 

I  told  him  I  would  rather  sleep  in  a 
fence  corner  without  my  supper  than  go 
back  to  the  peanut  man ;  then  asked  him 
where  was  the  wagon  road  to  Rochester. 

42 


ONCE  A  HOBO 

"This  one  here  is  the  state  turnpike, 
and  goes  directly  there,"  he  said.  "I  have 
to  go  two  miles  to  my  place,  or  you  might 
stay  with  me  tonight.  Out  east  there  a 
bit  is  a  public  house.  They  are  good 
folks  and  will  take  care  of  you." 

No  turning  back  for  me.  After  walk- 
ing and  running  a  couple  of  miles  I  came 
to  a  big  white  house,  that  I  well  remem- 
ber because  of  its  high  Dutch  gable.  It 
proved  to  be  a  wayside  inn  kept  by  two 
elderly  ladies,  and  might  have  been  called 
the  "Twin  Sisters'  Rest,"  the  ladies 
looked  so  much  alike. 

There  were  no  professional  "tourists" 
in  those  days.  '  Ways  and  means  to  com- 
bine and  filch  the  hard  earnings  of  com- 
mon people  and  make  hoboes  of  them 
had  not  been  formulated.  After  listening 
to  my  story  the.  ladies  did  not  throw  me 
out  and  set  the  dog  on  me.  Dirty  and 
"crummy"  as  I  was,  they  hugged  me  and 
called  me  a  "poor  dear."  Then  I  was 
stripped,  scoured  in  a  tub  of  hot  water, 
searched  with  a  fine-toothed  comb, 
dressed  in  clean  linen,  feasted  with  fried 
chicken,  and  laid  in  a  nice  comfortable 
bed.  My  last  remembrance  of  that  night 
is  that  as  I  passed  into  dreamland,  tired 
and  worn,  two  good  angels  were  kneeling 
at  my  bedside. 

43 


HANDSET    REMINISCENCES 

In  the,  morning  the  good  ladies  pro- 
posed that  I  should  live  with  them;  said 
they  would  adopt  me,  put  me  in  school, 
and,  in  return  I  could  be  helpful  to  them. 
But  this  did  not  make  me  hesitate.  So 
they  gave  me  a  bright  red  handkerchief 
filled  with  lunch,  in  a  corner  of  which 
were  tied  four  bright  shilling  pieces; 
kissed  me  and  I  went  my  way.  In  after 
years  I  often  thought  I  would  like  to  visit 
those  kind-hearted  women,  but  never 
found  it  convenient  to  do  so. 

I  walked  from  the  wayside  inn  to 
Ithaca,  thirty-two  miles  from  Buffalo,  and 
the  tramp  occupied  two  days.  It  is  still 
green  in  my  memory  that  when  stopping 
for  food  or  rest  I  was  not  once  plied  with 
doubting  questions  or  turned  awiay.  In 
fact,  from  the  far-western  prairie  back  to 
the  old  farm  my  only  real  setback  was 
when  I  took  counsel  from  the.  peanut  man 
and  lied  to  the  conductor. 

At  Ithaca  I  was  kindly  cared  for  at 
the  first  hotel  to  which  I  applied,  but  not 
without  questioning;  for  with  a  thousand 
miles  of  travel  sans  purse  or  scrip  be- 
hind me,  I  was  looked  upon  as  a  prodigy 
and  crowds  gathered  to  hear  the  story  of 
my  journey.  One  elderly,  well-to-do 
gentleman,  a  guest  of  the  hotel,  became 
so  interested  that  he  also  wanted  to  adopt 
me.  He  owned  and  operated  a  paper  mill 

44 


ONCE  A  HOBO 

in  a  nearby  village.  Having  no  children, 
he  and  his  wife  lived  alone.  They  would, 
he  said,  adopt  me  as  their  son.  I  could 
go  to  school,  learn  paper  making,  and  if 
found  worthy  succeed  him  in  the  busi- 
ness. 

Of  course  he  could  not  interest  the 
homesick  boy — adding  a  gun,  prairie, 
chickens,  rabbits  and  all  kinds  of  snakes 
to  his  layout. 

When  I  went  to  the  depot  there  was 
a  train  on  the  track,  about  to  pull  out  for 
the  east.  It  was  mostly  made  up  of  emi- 
grant "empties."  The  Central  at  that 
time  was  rushed  with  freshly  landed 
Irish,  German  and  Dutch  emigrants, 
bound  for  all  parts  of  the  known  west, 
who  have  since  been  succeeded  by  gener- 
ations numbered  among  the  very  -best  cit- 
izens of  America.  They  were  packed  in 
cars  resembling  great  red  boxes  on 
wheels,  each  car  having  on  either  side 
four  windows  a  foot  square,  six  feet  from 
the  floor.  Train  men  who  had  to  pass  to 
and  fro  overhead  were  careful  to  walk  in 
the  center,  lest  the  rich  steerage  aroma 
steaming  from  the  little  windows  should 
overcome  and  topple  them  over.  It  wias 
so  rank  as  to  make  a  gray  brakeman  out 
of  a  blue  one  in  a  few  hours. 

A  big  man  with  "fair  round  belly"  and 
a  double  chin  was  pointed  out  to  me  as 

45 


HANDSET   REMINISCENCES 

the  conductor.  He  listened  to  me.  pa- 
tiently, then  bending  down  gave  me  a 
looking  over  and  said  kindly: 

"My  boy,  I  saw  you  at  the  hotel  last 
night.  I  believe  your  story,  and  am  go- 
ing to  let  you  ride.  But  listen :  Just  be- 
fore the  train  pulls  out  be  at  the  front 
end  of  that  car — pointing  to  an  empty.  I 
will  come  and  lock  you  in,  and  when  we 
stop  at  Rochester  let  you  out.  In  the  car 
don't  dare  to  make  a  noise,  and  don't  try 
to  look  out  of  a  window.  Understand? 
You  might  get  me  into  trouble/' 

"Yes,  sir." 

My  next  recollection  is  of  standing  at 
the  corner  of  Buffalo  and  State  streets  in 
Rochester.  The  old  farm,  as  I  did  not 
know  then,  or  the  way  to  it,  was  about 
two  miles  from  the  spot.  After  asking 
many  times  to  be  directed  to  "the  Iron- 
dequoit  road"  (West  North  street) — no 
one  knew  it  by  that  name — I  had  come  to 
a  standstill. 

While  taking  in  the  noise  and  bustle 
of  the  city's  main  thoroughfare,  confident 
that  I  would  soon  be  on  the  way,  my  at- 
tention was  attracted  by  loud  laughter  di- 
rectly behind  me.  Turning,  I  saw  stand- 
ing in  the  entrance  of  a  stairway  my 
guardian  uncle.  He  had  recognized  me. 
Holding  out  his  hand  I  ran  to  him,  and 
after  wiping  away  tears  of  laughter  he 

46 


ONCE  A  HOBO 

led  me  without  a  word  up  to  his  office. 
There  in  answer  to  questions  I  told  him 
all  that  had  happened,  and  other  tears 
gathered  in  'his  eyes.  Gently  lifting  me 
on  to  a  table,  he  said: 

"My  son,  stand  right  where  you  are 
until  I  come  back.  I  won't  be  long 
gone." 

The  object  he  left  standing  there  was 
about  three  feet  high,  marked  with  the 
intensely  black  hair  of  a  "John  Highland- 
man,"  Irish  blue  eyes,  a  very  white, 
freckled  skin — a  heavy  weight  for  my 
age.  I  had  on  a  pair  of  well-worn  red 
top  boots  with  "italic  heels,"  a  pair  of 
cast-off,  full-grown  trousers  that  had 
been  cut  off  at  the  knees  and  were  held 
up  by  one  home-made  suspender;  a  man's 
coat,  with  sleeves  rolled  to  the  elbows  and 
tails  long  enough  to  reach  the  table  but 
caught  up  here  and  there  with  pins  and 
slivers ;  a  boy's  shirt  that  the  good  ladies 
had  given  me,  and  a  chip  hat,  with  the 
top  gone,  and  my  unkempt  long  hair 
standing  up  through  the  crown. 

Aside  from  the  shirt,  this  was  the  rig 
in  which  I  had  started.  Homjespun,  with 
long  nap,  while  I  was  climbing  over  cot- 
ton bales  on  the  St.  Joe  the  coat  and 
trousers  had  taken  on  a  striking  coating 
of  cotton  "feathers."  I  had  "crums" 

47 


HANDSET   REMINISCENCES 

enough  to  outfit  a  menagerie,  and  all  I 
needed  was  a  month's  growth  of  whiskers 
and  a  tomato  can  to  have  taken  the  hobo 
prize. 

Presently  my  uncle  returned,  followed 
by  a  dozen  lawyers  and  doctors,  tenants 
of  the  building. 

"'Gentlemen,"  said  he,  "let  me  intro- 
duce to  you  a  young  man  who  will  some 
day  be  president.  This  is  my  nephew, 
just  arrived  from  the  wilds  of  Illinois, 
which  he  left  two  weeks  ago  and  has 
made  the  whole  distance  alone  and  with- 
out a  cent.  He  ran  away  from  people 
there  who  stole  him  from  me,  because  he 
wouldn't  stand  to  be,  kicked." 

Just  imagine  that  while  being  inspect- 
ed after  that  speech  I  was  as  proud  as  a 
pony  in  a  circus. 

What  disappointment  was  awaiting 
me  at  the  farm!  After  all,  the  magnet 
was  not  there.  Everything  was  much  the 
same,  and  my  brothers  and  sister  em- 
braced me  effectionately,  and  listened  with 
wonder;  but  the  boy,  now  more  than  a 
year  older,  did  not  hear  with  the  same 
ears  or  see  with  the,  same  eyes.  The 
glamour  of  home  scenes  and  the  yearn- 
ings that  were  ever  with  me  during  the 
eventful  year  were  gone,  never  to  return. 
A  stern  rebuke  from  my  eldest  brother, 

48 


ONCE  A  HOBO 

who  shortly  received  a  letter  from  Illinois, 
for  leaving  my  aunt  as  I  had  done,  did 
much  to  dispel  whatever  was  left  of  the 
ardor  of  my  child  long-ings. 
I  was  never  homesick  again. 


Undoing  of  Old  Ormsby. 


When  in  my  15th  year  I  was  appren- 
ticed at  typesetting  to  the  Rochester  (IN. 
Y.)  Advertiser.  It  was  soon  merged  (I 
being  a  more  or  less  valuable  asset)  with 
the  Rochester  Union — hence  the  present 
Union  and  Advertiser. 

Tom  Flannery  was  foreman  of  the  hy- 
phenated sheet.  I  would  at  this  late  date 
speak  of  him  in  a  more  respectful  way, 
but  do  not  know  positively  that  his  name 
was  "Thomas."  His  besetting  sin  was 
playing  favorites.  All  the  favorites  had 
to  do  to  get  his  pie  was  to  kowtow,  in  a 
low  and  contrite  spirit.  This  I  declined 
to  do,  though  to  make  me  come  through 
he  imposed  on  me  shamefully,  in  various 
and  sundry  ways. 

My  work  at  case  was  a  "stent"  of  24,- 
000  ems,  at  $2.50,  after  which  I  was  paid 
for  all  I  could  set  the  regular  "scale — 23 
cents  per  1,000 — the  total  averaging 
about  $4.50  per  week. 

One  day  when  I  had  been  rebellious 
Mr.  Flannery  went  ahead  of  me  to  the 
copy  box,  and  after  pawing  over  the  con- 
tents handed  me  a  half  column  of  solid 

50 


UNDOING  OF  OLD  ORMSBY 

reprint  (as  a  rule  all  copy  being  leaded), 
with  about  every  other  line  italic.  It 
was  a  calm  day,  but  suddenly  he  thought 
he  saw  a  shooting  star  whizzing  through 
space.  It  was  a  bright  new  shooting 
stick,  that  just  grazed  a  bald  place  on  his 
head.  Then  an  object  flew  by  him  which 
proved  to  be  the  devil,  making  for  the 
door  with  coat  and  hat  in  hand. 

This  incident  explains  why  in  1857,  at 
the  age  of  18  and  with  but  two  years' 
knowledge  of  printing,  one  bright  day  in 
June  I  showed  up  for  subbing  at  the 
Cleveland  (Ohio)  Leader.  I  was  put  on 
that  night  by  A.  K.  Cutting,  and  am  par- 
ticular to  mention  his  name  as  this  man 
some  time  later  became  one  of  the  most 
notorious  rat  herders  of  the  west  and  did 
serious  mischief  with  his  gang  at  St. 
Louis,  Cincinnati,  Chicago  and  other 
points. 

The  Leader  force  at  that  time,  besides 
the  foreman,  consisted  of  six  composi- 
tors. Cutting  held  the  ad  cases,  and  I 
will  never  forget  that  my  first  take  was 
a  half  colum;n  display;  for  it  was  my  first 
attempt  at  anything  but  straight  matter. 
I  got  along  with  it  very  well,  'but  not  so 
wtell  with  the  next — some  unedited  tele- 
graph markets.  Just  fancy  a  reprint  boy 
working  as  a  journeyman  on  such  stuff! 

51 


HANDSET    REMINISCENCES 

Through  the  patience  and  kindness  of  an 
alley  partner,  however,  I  saved  my  bacon 
and  worked  on  the  Leader  several 
months. 

A  request  came  to  the  office  one  day 
for  a  printer  to  help  out  on  the  first  nu;m- 
ber  of  a  weekly  paper,  and  I  answered 
the  call.  The  new  publication  was  to  be 
"The  Spy" — a  giveaway  name  though  I 
was  innocent  as  a  babe  of  its  meaning, 
Behind  the  enterprise  was  "Old  Man" 
Ormsby,  who  after  many  years  of  pro- 
gressive boozing  had  been  fired  from  the 
foremanship  of  the  Daily  Herald  for 
dropping  a  form  and  throwing  an  edi- 
tion. 

•Casting  about  for  something  to  do, 
Old  O'rmsby  evolved  the  scheme  of  re- 
suscitating a  vile  sheet  called  "The  Spy," 
that  had  recently  croaked  when  every- 
body thought  it  was  coining  money. 

I  must  tell  the  cause  of  its  untimely 
taking  off,  as  it  has  a  bearing  on  my 
story.  An  educated  but  devilish  old 
dame,  who  had  for  many  years  been  the 
managing  director  of  a  famous  Cleve- 
land maison  de  joie,  having  retired  from 
active  life  with  deep  wrinkles,  a  cracked 
voice  and  little  money,  started  the  origi- 
nal paper  and  so  filled  it  with  double- 
edged  personals  that  it  became  widely 

52 


UNDOING  OF  OLD  ORMSBY 

sought  after.  From  her  income  she  was 
soon  enabled  to  array  herself  in  fine  linen 
and  wear  diamonds,  even  dabble  in  real 
estate ;  so  that  unsophisticated  lookers  on 
got  the  idea  that  the  circulation  of  the 
sheet  was  something  of  a  gold  mine. 

There  were,  however,  many  way-up 
men  in  that  moral  city — bankers,  law- 
yers, doctors,  even  men  of  the  cloth — 
who  had  grave  reasons  for  suspecting  that 
the  merex  selling  of  papers  was  a  side- 
issue,  with  the  madam.  Whenever  the 
sheet  contained  a  squib  about  the  old 
maison  in  which  the  bare  initials  of  one 
of  these  highly  respected  citizens  appear- 
ed there  was  also  a  light  in  the  window, 
and  under  cover  of  darkness  he  would 
make  a  sneak  into  the  sanctum  and  sue 
for  peace  with  a  roll  of  bills. 

One  fatal  week  an  item  appeared  con- 
taining a  nasty  thrust  at  a  couple  of 
frisky  but  not  bad  university  boys.  They 
were  not  of  the  breed  to  stand  for  black- 
mailing, and  took  sweet  revenge.  On  the 
night  of  the  day  of  publication,  the  coast 
being  clear,  they  climbed  through  a  back 
window  and  with  hammers  played  a  tat- 
too on  the  face  of  the  forms.  Even  the 
heading  was  obliterated.  About  all  the 
available  type  was  inside  the  chases,  and 
not  one  escaped.  A  new  dress  being  ne- 

53 


HANDSET   REMINISCENCES 

cessary,  and  not  knowing-  who  had  turned 
the  trick  and  having  a  hunch  it  would  be 
repeated  or  something  as  bad  happen,  the 
cute  old  dame  not  only  concluded  to  go 
out  of  business,  but  incontinently  went. 

Old  Ormsby's  plant  consisted  of  a 
couple  of  cases  of  "long  primer,"  head 
letter,  an  inverted  gravestone  and 
chases.  When  I  arrived  I  found  the  first 
and  fourth  pages  of  a  five-column  sheet 
made  up  with  a  spicy  story.  The  old 
man  showed  me  a/  hook  full  of  locals  and 
personals,  set  me  to  work  and  went  and 
got  drunk.  That  was  the  last  I  saw  of 
him  until  the  new  "Spy"'  made  its  first 
and  only  spiel. 

How  in  my  ignorance  I  got  through 
that  week,  with  never  a  soul  coming  near, 
don't 'matter  much.  Suffice  it  that  the 
forms  went  to  the  press  office  Saturday 
morning.  By  10  o'clock  half-a-dozen 
newsboys  were  out  picking  up  easy  mon- 
ey. By  noon  I  had  taken  in  more  "bones" 
than  was  my  due. 

Then  a  young  fellow  whom  I  knew, 
white  with  anger,  entered  the  office. 

"For  heaven's  sake,  Jerry,  what  have 
you  to  do  with  this  outfit?"  were  his  first 
words.  I  told  him  all  about  it. 

An  anonymous  letter  had  come,  to  the 
office  and  being  short  of  copy  I  inserted 

54 


UNDOING  OF  OLD  ORMSBY 

it.  Darkly  it  criticised  the  actions  of  an 
estimable  young  lady,  whose  name  I  had 
given  in  full — instead  of  initials  as  Old 
Ormsby  would  have  done.  My  friend 
pointed  to  the  personal — evidently  from 
a  jealous  rival. 

"That  is  a  dirty,  lying  slur  on  my  only 
sister,"  he  said.  "I  would  not  have  her 
see  it  for  the  world.  She  is  an  invalid, 
and  the  shock  of  such  an  attack  would  kill 
her." 

Then  with  a  sudden  frenzy,  he  ex- 
claimed, "Watch  me !"  and  before  I  could 
interfere  overturned  the  case  rack  and 
shoved  the  unlocked  forms  off  the  stone. 
I  was  taking  lessons  very  fast  about  this 
time  in  "the  art  preservative  of  all  arts." 

The  fearful  racket  thus  caused,  on  a 
hollow  floor,  was  followed  by  a  series  of 
unearthly  shrieks  emanating  from  a  store 
on  the  ground  floor  occupied  as  a  gun- 
shop.  The  place  was  being  tended  by  a 
woman  in  a  delicate  condition,  while  her 
husband  was  temporarily  absent.  A  gab- 
ble of  female  voices  soon  succeeded  the 
screams,  and  it  transpired  that  when  the 
husband  returned  he  found  himself  the 
father  of  a  fine,  bouncing  boy. 

My  friend  and  I  went  down  to  the  side- 
walk, which  was  raised  above  the  street 
level,  just  as  Old  Ormsby,  with  a  big 

55 


HANDSET   REMINISCENCES 

skate  on  was  staggering  up  from  the  road- 
way. My  friend  hit  him  just  once;  and 
there  was  a  sickening  thud  as  he  fell 
back  in  a  heap  and  laid  there. 

I  felt  sorry  for  the  old  man,  so  the  next 
day  with  another  printer  sought  him  out. 
His  was  the  most  startling  pair  of  black 
eyes  I  ever  saw.  Compared  with  them  a 
colored  patch  on  a  white  vest  wouldn't 
be  noticed.  He  was  standing  by  his  gate, 
trembling  from  the  debauch  but  sober, 
and  beside  him  was  his  poor,  devoted 
wife,  with  a  hand  on  his  shoulder  and  a 
far-away  gaze.  She  looked  to  me  like 
there  wasn't  a  bite,  to  eat  in  the  house, 
so  I  slipped  a  small  bank  note  into  her 
hand. 

When  I  said  to  him  "Let's  go  and 
brace  up,"  you  ought  to  have  seen  that 
old  man  hike  for  a  corner  grocery  near 
'by.  (In  those  days  every  well-regulated 
grocery  had  forty-rod  on  tap.  It  cost  $3 
and  $3.50  a  barrel  and  retailed  at  3  cents 
a  drink.)  He.  had  to  rest  his  elbows  on 
the  counter  wlhile  he  lifted  in  a  tumbler- 
ful. 

That    was    the  last    time    I    saw    Old 

Ormsby.  I  never  even  heard  of  him  after- 
wards, but  am  fain  to  believe  this  enter- 
prise compassed  his  last  and  only  exper- 
ience as  an  outputter  of  disreputable 
sheets. 

56 


Tribulations  of  a  Two-Thirder. 


The  only  time  I  ever  played  an  en- 
gagement as  a  two-thirder  was  in  the  fall 
of  1858.  I  had  just  arrived  in  New1  York 
from  Cleveland,  with  less  than  three 
years'  experience  at  case,  and  was  timid 
about  showing  up  at  the  big  newspaper 
offices.  So  I  applied  for  work  at  John 
F.  Trow's  office,  then  on  Broadway  near 
Canal  street,  and  was  given  cases  on  a 
city  business  directory.  The  measure  was 
10  ems,  type  6-point;  style  included  italic 
in  nearly  every  line  and  blackface  galore. 
Trow's  office,  though  the  leading  book 
and  job  office  of  the  city  at  that  time,  em- 
ploying twenty  to  thirty  men,  was  con- 
ducted on  the  short-of-material  plan, 
difficult  to  explain  in  these  days  of  ela- 
borate plants  and  type  thoroughly  sorted 
in  the  interest  of  economy. 

'Black  face  classification  heads,  occur- 
ring in  every  fewi  lines  in  the  directory, 
had  to  be  set  with  half  of  the  letters 
turned,  and  this  was  so  also  with  the 
italic  and  black  face  body  letter.  My 
cases  when  given  to  me  were  level  full 
with  the  exception  of  half-a-dozen  emipty 
boxes,  while,  not  a  sort  could  be  begged, 
borrowed  or  stolen.  All  I  could  do  was 

57 


HANDSET    REMINISCENCES 

to  "dis"  a  couple  of  handsful  and  then 
set  them  out,  using  a  rule  without  ears 
and  a  stick  dating  back  to  the  time  of  the 
Dutch  settlement. 

At  the  end  of  the  week,  when  I  had  up 
four  galleys— not  to  exceed  20,000  at  20 
cents  per — I  learned  that  the  ghost 
walked  but  once  in  two  weeks;  and  I 
owed  $3.50  for  board.  Not  a  proof  had 
been  pulled,  I  was  supposed  to  right  the 
turned  letters,  and  I  foresaw  it  would 
take  about  'half  of  the  next  week  to  get 
my  little  dab  ready  for  the  stone. 

'Nevertheless,  I  showed  up  Monday 
morning.  Shortly  after  "time,"  while  I 
was  pounding  away  I  saw  something 
flash  between  my  feet.  It  was  a  $2.50 
gold  piece.  Quietly  picking  up  some 
"feathers"  I  also  picked  up  the  money 
and  put  it  in  my  pocket.  Pretty  soon 
came  a  w)eak-eyed  fellow  from  the  ad- 
joining alley  with  a  broom  and  stirred 
up  a  lot  of  dust  under  the  racks,  where 
a  broom  had  not  (been  in  months,  if  ever. 
He  said  nothing  to  me  but  explained  to 
my  side-partner  that  he  had  dropped  a 
small  gold  piece.  , 

At  that  moment  I  was  under  a  tempta- 
tion born  of  desperation.  I  was  broke, 
my  landlady  seemed  to  have  talons  like 
an  eagle,  and  it  was  a  cinch  I  could  not 

68 


TRIBULATIONS   OF   A   TWO-THIRDER 

last  the  week  put  with  her.  My  sympathy 
has  ever  'been  with  the  poor,  careworn 
boarding-house  keeper  who  spends  her 
time  in  the  kitchen  and  lets  the  'business 
end  run  itself.  TJhis  was  not  one  of  that 
kind.  No  one  delinquent  could  eat  her 
head  off.  The  sitting  room  was  the  front 
end  of  a  double  parlor  with  folding  doors, 
and  she  occupied  the  back  part.  This 
latter  was  called  by  the  guests  the  "draw- 
ing room,"  for  behind  its  doors  she  drew 
money  or  blood  from  a  delinquent.  If 
blood,  after  the  process  he  sneaked  out 
of  a  side  entrance  and  was  seen  no  more. 

One  night  I  saw  and  heard  something 
that  made  me  feel  awful.  The  doors 
swung  open  and  there  stood  the  landlady 
with  eyes  glaring,  like  a  witch  in  Mac- 
beth crooking  her  fingers  at  a  poor  devil, 
who  looked  like  he  would  collapse  as  he 
answered  the  summons.  The  lovesick 
girl  ceased  singing  "Only  Thou,"  the 
game  of  four-handed  cri'bbage  suspended, 
the  gabble  ceased,  and  a  death-like 
silence  ensued  except  that  the  children 
began  to  cry.  Then  a  shrill,  high-keyed 
voice  prevailed  in  the  drawing  room  for 
about  fifteen  minutes,  the  side  door 
opened  and  closed,  and  all  was  still  again 
save  for  hysterical  sobs  from  within. 
Next?  Not  me. 

59 


HANDSET   REMINISCENCES 

There  were  a  number  of  favorites  in 
the  office  including  the  fellow  who  drop- 
ped his  coin.  During  lunch  hours  I  had 
visited  his  frame,  and  seen  that  he  was 
working  on  an  edition  of  Shakespeare, 
set  in  6-point,  with  2-point  leads.  To 
make  me  jealous,  I  presumed,  he  informed 
me  he  had  been  working  for  more  than 
a  year  on  like  matter — editions  of  Burns' 
and  Byron's  works,  etc.  To  me  he  was 
a  bloated  coupon  cutter.  Securing  his 
address  from  the  office  register,  I  re- 
solved to  keep  the  godsend  until  I  could 
make  some  money  and  return  it. 

That  night  I  appealed  to  a  benevolent 
brakeman  on  the  Hudson  River  Railroad, 
and  started  in  a  freight  car  for  my  home 
at  Rochester.  On  the  trip  my  chief 
amusement  was  making  calculations  on 
about  how  much  John  F.  Trow  would 
be  ahead  if  a  time  hand  corrected  my 
week's  work. 

Some  time  later,  when  I  was  burning 
midnight  oil,  "a  student  o'er  the.  dreams 
of  sages,"  a  copy  of  that  identical  Trow 
edition  of  Shakespeare  fell  into  my  hands. 
It  was  a  neat,  gilt-edged  volume,  finely 
printed ;  but  I  could  take  no  comfort  con- 
ning its  pages  because,  of  a  piece  of  money, 
that,  like  Macbeth's  dagger,  cavorted 
around  and  obscured  the  pages.  Though 

60 


TRIBULATIONS   OF   A   TWO-THIRDER 

my  conscience  was  relieved,  after  diligent 
search  for  that  address  it  transpired  that 
I  had  lost  it,  and  the  wrestler  of  fat  mat- 
ter never  recovered  his  wealth. 
*     ± 

During  my  "engagement"  at  Trow's 
the  misery  was  not  constant,  thanks  part- 
ly to  my  last  fifty  cents. 

A  typesetting  machine  being  operated 
in  the,  office  so  challenged  my  curiosity 
that  I  spent  lunch  hours  watching  its 
movements.  Three  men  and  a  boy  were 
required  to  run  it — the  product  of  their 
labor  being  about  6000  per  hour  of  "small 
pica" — 11-point.  There  was  a  hopper- 
like  receptacle  for  each  type,  from  which 
they  were  released  by  means  of  a  key- 
board into  slots  that  met  at  a  common 
center.  Here  they  were  dropped  by  a 
peculiar  device  feet  first  on  an  endless 
tape,  Which  carried  them  to  a  galley-like 
contrivance  also  moved  by  the  keyboard, 
on  which  they  fell  through  a  groove  face 
and  nick  up,  in  single  file.  When  the 
galley  was  full  it  was  replaced  mechan- 
ically with  an  empty  one.  Then  with 
stick  and  rule  a  man  proceeded  to  break 
up  the  long  line  into  lines  of  any  re- 
quired measure. 

If  you  should  want  to  know  how  the 
types  were  taken  down,  and  so  placed  in 

61 


HANDSET    REMINISCENCES 

the  hoppers  that  they  could  with  accur- 
acy be  freed  one  at  a  time,  don't  ask  me, 
for  it  was  a  secret  I  did  not  find  out.  It 
may  be  this  machine  was  tried  first  and 
last  at  Trow's,  for  I  never  saw  or  heard 
of  it  afterwards.  It  was  certainly  an  in- 
genious piece  of  mechanism,  since  it  ac- 
tually set  real  type  faster  than  it  can 
be  done  by  hand. 

4     * 

The  first  steam  fire  engine  ever  seen 
in  New  York  was  exhibited  on  Broad- 
way near  Trow's  while  I  was  there,  it 
was  invented  and  made  in  Chicago,  but 
I  do  not  recollect  the  name  of  it.  Great 
crowds  witnessed  its  operation.  Strange- 
ly, it  did  not  seem  to  particularly  attract 
the  attention  of  hand  machine  firemen. 
They  little  dreamed  that  the  old  hand 
engine,'  of  which  there  were1  scores  in  the 
city  manned  by  companies  of  100  to  300 
men,  would  give  way  to  steamy  power  and 
soon  become  relics  of  the  past. 

The  great  volunteer  companies  of  the 
larger  cities  of  those  days  had  to  be 
reckoned  with  by  politicians  and  place 
hunters.  The  political  party  standing  in 
with  the  majority  of  them  usually  won 
out.  But  as  the  big  companies  were  in- 
tensely jealous  of  each  other,  especially 
of  the  relative  merits  of  their  engines, 

62 


TRIBULATIONS   OF   A   TWO-THIRDER 

it  was  difficult  to  herd  them  in  the  same 
political  corral;  so  that  the  power  they 
could  have  wielded  was  often  lost.  It 
was  just  as  wiell,  for  the  membership  was 
largely  made  up  of  "plug  uglies,"  as  the 
'bruisers  were  called,  and  questionable 
characters.  A  state  firemen's  tourna- 
ment, at  which  prizes  were  given  for  the 
highest  streams  of  water  thrown,  was 
considered  one  of  the  biggest  entertain- 
ments with  which  a  city  could  be  favor- 
ed. The  companies  were  on  their  good 
behavior  under  penalty  of  being  barred, 
but  all  the  same,  as  during  the  visitation 
of  a  circus,  the  citizens  prudently  remem- 
bered to  fasten  their  doors  and  windows. 
T!he  company  called  "Big  Six,"  man- 
ning a  double-decker  engine  and  able,  in 
an  emergency  to  summon  300  men  to  the 
drag  ropes,  always  came  out  ahead  in  a 
fight,  in  which  whole  companies  would 
engage.  No  other  engine  could  take  the 
water  of  "Big  Six"  and  stay  with  it.  Each 
man  carried  a  hook  in  his  belt,  as  did 
most  other  firemen  for  that  matter.  When 
two  engines  were  about  to  pass  each 
other  on  a  cobble  pavement  the  ropes 
were  dropped  and  every  man  dug  up  a 
cobble  stone  with  his  hook.  Then  they 
resumed  the  ropes  and  the  long  files  sul- 
lenly moved  on.  If  one  stone  was  thrown 

63 


HANDSET   REMINISCENCES 

it  was  the  signal  for  a  melee,  and  the 
harvest  would  often  be  a  dozen  broken 
heads,  sometimes  fatalities.  The  spirit 
prevailing  among  firemen  was  well  ex- 
pressed at  a  meeting  of  "Big  Six,"  when 
the  subject  of  repainting  the  engine  was 
under  discussion.  Motions  had  been  made 
favoring  different  colors,  when  a  member 
in  a  back  seat  arose  and  said : 

"Mr.  Chairman,  fer  me,  I  don't  care 
what  color  de  macheen  am  painted  so 
long  as  its  de  color  of  blood." 

It  is  worthy  of  recalling  that  when 
volunteer  fire  departments  fairly  domin- 
ated the  larger  cities,  staid  old  Philadel- 
phia was  credited  with  having  the  ban- 
ner fighting  department,  while,  Baltimore 
lined  up  as  a  close  second. 

4     * 

Just  below  Canal  street  on  Broadway 
was  a  large  public  hall,  so  in  disuse  as 
to  have  been  almost  forgotten,  when  one 
morning  its  former  prominence  was  sud- 
denly recalled  by  an  immense  streamer 
stretched  across  the  street  in  front,  bear- 
ing the  figure  of  a  beautiful  mermaid. 
T/he  picture  was  quite  a  work  of  art; 
must  have  cost  hundreds  of  dollars.  It 
having  been  profusely  announced  by  the 
press  and  flaming  posters  that  P.  T.  Bar- 
num,  at  great  expense,  had  brought  from 

64 


TRIBULATIONS   OF   A   TWQ-THIRDER 

Japan  the  only  mermaid  ever  landed  on 
American  soil,  and  would  exhibit  it  at 
this  hall,  when  the  doors  were  thrown 
open  thousands  of  people  fairly  fell  over 
each  other  to  get  front  seats  at  fifteen 
cents  each,  and  I  was  in  the  crush.  Be- 
hold, there  were  no  seats,  front  or  back, 
and  not  a  sign  of  any  kind  of  furniture 
except  in  the  center  of  the.  vast  room  was 
a  small  table.  On  this  table  stood  a 
glass  globe  about  eighteen  inches  high, 
in  which,  fastened  to  a  pedestal,  was 
about  as  disgusting  an  object  as  I  ever 
saw.  It  was  the  head  (sans  eyes),  arms 
and  trunk  of  a  dried  monkey,  to  which 
some  Jap  had  attached  the  tail  of  a  fish, 
so  ingeniously  that  close  inspection  could 
not  detect  just  where  they  were  joined. 
It  took  about  a  minute  to  view  the  lay- 
out, everybody  turning  away  with  a  broad 
grin  that  lasted  into  the  open  air — ver- 
ifying Barnum's  famous  comment  that 
the  American  public  likes  to  be  hum- 
bugged. 

I  was  one  of  the  first  victims.  The 
attraction  lasted  nearly  a  week,  during 
which  the  greatest  of  showmen  salted 
away  many  thousands  of  dollars.  On  the 
last  afternoon,  when  the  attendant  had 
been  called  away  a  moment,  'some  joker 
raised  the  case  and  stuck  a  cigar  stub  in 

65 


HANDSET    REMINISCENCES 

the  "mermaid's"  mouth.  Perhaps  this 
was  taken  as  a  hint  that  the  public  had 
been  sufficiently  worked  for  once — that 
the  big  grin  was  about  to  make  way  for 
a  big  growl — and  the  show  closed. 
i  * 

One  night  I  wias  permitted  to  mingle 
with  "the  gods"  at  Laura  Keene's  theatre, 
where  "Our  Am/erican  Cousin"  was  hav- 
ing its  first  great  run.  It  was  one  of  the 
cherished  privileges  of  my  life  to  see  on 
this  occasion  the  original  great  cast — 
including  Laura  Keene,  Joe  Jefferson, 
the  elder  Sothern  and  Burnett.  Sothern, 
peaked  at  having  been  assigned  an  in- 
significant part,  had  put  his  soul  into  it, 
given  it  a  conception  entirely  his  own, 
and  already  made  Lord  Dundreary  the 
talk  of  the  city. 

As  will  be  remembered,  it  was  while 
witnessing  this  play  (with  the  same  cast) 
that  seven  years  later  President  Lincoln 
was  assassinated  in  Ford's  theatre  at 
Washington. 


CG 


New  York  Herald  Office  Fifty 
Years  Ago. 

Looking  backward  fifty  years,  the  up- 
to-date  printer  and  machine  man  can 
hardly  conceive  of  the  amount  of  labor, 
the  skill  and  clocklike  regularity  that 
were  essential  in  producing  the  high-class 
eight-page  metropolitan  dailies  of  those 
times.  For,  while  improvements  have 
been  made  that  it  wjould  now  be  impossi- 
ble to  get  along  without — such  as  the 
linotype,  the  perfecting  press,  the  ster- 
eotyped page,  and  lightning  methods  of 
illustration — there  were  dailies  of  the 
fifties  that  in  my  judgment  were  artistic- 
ally and  mechanically  superior  to  some 
of  the  top-heavy,  yellow  sheets  of  the 
present  rating  as  first  class.  A  twelve- 
page  edition  then  was  miore  difficult  to 
produce  than  forty-eight  pages  now. 

Take  the  New  York  Herald,  for  exam- 
ple. It  began  publication  in  1836  with 
four  pages,  four  twelve-inch  columns  to 
the  page.  Twenty  years  later  it  was 
printing  eight  seven-column  pages,  and 
a  little  later  special  editions  of  twelve 
pages  were  made  possible  by  the  Hoe 
six-cylinder  press — a  marvel  of  "speed" 

67 


HANDSET    REMINISCENCES 

— and  noise.  Before  the  civil  war  ended 
the  Herald  had  two  ten-cylinder  presses 
in  commission,  with  which  it  distanced 
all  competitors  by  printing  editions  of  as 
high  as  thirty-two  and  even  forty  pages. 
In  the  fifties  the  news  was  set  in  "non- 
pareil," ads.  in  "agate"  and  editorials  and 
Sunday  stories  in  "minion."  All  ads. 
began  with  a  two-line  initial  and  first 
line  in  caps.  The  only  display  permitted 
was  caps  and  broken  lines.  Such  a  thing 
as  a  two-column  ad.  was  an  unheard-of 
abomination,  and  would  have  been  an 
outrage  on  all  accepted  rules  of  typo- 
graphy. When  the  double-column  ad. 
was  first  "evolved"  it  read  across  two 
columns,  but  the  full  column  rule  had 
to  go  in  just  the  same.  Not  a  lead  or 
slug  was  allowed  in  advertising.  If  a 
patron  wanted  "a  spread"  he  could  pay 
for  as  many  three  em  dash  lines,  or 
"miseries,"  between  lines  as  he  .liked;  or 
•he  could  repeat  lines  any  number  of 
times. 

Repeating  was  a  favorite  display  used 
by  Doctor  Helmlbold,  of  buchu  fame — 
the  greatest  advertiser  of  his  time  except 
P.  T.  Barnum.  Once  he  proposed  to  fill 
the  first  page  of  the  Sunday  Herald  with 
"Helmbold's  Buchu is  an Unfail- 
ing Remedy for Kidney  Troubles" 

68 


FIFTY   YEARS   AGO 

— each  'broken  line  to  ibe  in  caps,  thirty 
times,  with  a  three-em-dash  line  between, 
to  make  a  column — the  next  column  the 
same,  and  so  on,  miaking  a  page  of  solid 
agate  type.  What  resulted  illustrates  the 
severe  rules  the  Herald  management  was 
obliged  to  enforce.  At  2  o'clock  Satur- 
day the  doctor  applied  for  the  space  and 
cost.  He  was  informed  that  the  price 
for  one  issue  would  be  $1,250,  but  that 
he  would  have  to  wait  until  4  o'clock 
before  the  advertising  could  be  accepted. 
"What,"  he  shouted,  pompously,  "do  you 
mean  to  intimate  that  Doctor  Helmbold's 
advertising  may  be  declined?  I  propose 
to  occupy  the  first  page  tomorrow  if  I 
have  to  pay  $2,000  for  it."  Being  in- 
formed by  the  manager  that  the  mere 
matter  of  pay  cut  no  figure — that  the 
advertising  space  was  already  well  filled 
with  regular  and  small  ads.  (a  twelve- 
page  edition  being  the  limit  at  that  time) 
— the  doctor  smoothed  his  feathers.  His 
ad.  did  not  appear. 

There  were  forty-eight  piece  cases  on 
the  Herald  in  1858,  besides  ship-news, 
market  and  head  departments.  The  price 
for  composition  was  33  cents — fair  con- 
sidering that  in  many  interior  cities  like 
Cleveland,  Buffalo,  Rochester  and  Al- 

69 


HANDSET    REMINISCENCES 

bany  but  20  to  25  cents  was  paid. 
The  up-country  price  for  tolerable 
board  and  room  was  $2.50  while  in 
New  York  it  was  around  $3.50  per 
week.  A  fair  suit  of  "hand-me-downs" 
could  'be,  had  for  $9  to  $12.  My 
judgment  is  that  33  cents  then  was  better 
than  55  now;  for  board,  lodging  and  quite 
glad  togs  complete,  with  an  assortment 
of  3-cent  slugs  of  booze  on  the  side,  could 
be  paid  for  with  a  ringer.  The  average 
string  was  about  nine  thousand — nearly 
$21  for  a  full  week. 

But  say,  what  do  you  fellows  who  drop 
your  sticks  in  the,  middle  of  a  line  w!hen 
the  eight-hour  jig  is  up  know  about 
work?  Let  me  tell  you  a'bout  the  real 
thing.  A  slave  representing  cases  on  the 
old  Herald  had  to  show  up  at  11  in  the 
morning.  That  was  an  unwritten  law, 
that  needed  no  frowning  monarch  to  en- 
force. There  were  preliminary  bouts  be- 
fore distribution  requiring  attention.  You 
applied  to  the  stoneman,  who  handed  you 
a  galley  of  nonpareil  and  another  of  agate 
or  agate  and  minion  mixed.  No  need  to 
handle  them  carefully,  for  you  could 
throw  a  whole  column  across  the  office 
and  hardly  jar  loose  a  "feather."  The 
type  had  been  locked  in  turtles  and 
soaked  to  the  last  nick  with  ink  as  thin 

70 


FIFTY   YEARS   AGTO 

as  was  possible  to  use — for  the  presses 
had  to  fly  to  cover  the  big  editions  . 

Resting  a  galley  on  his  case,  the  print- 
er first  loosened  up  the  type  a  little  with 
a  wooden  "masher"  (built  something 
like  a  potato  masher),  by  lifting  slightly 
several  lines  at  a  time,  between  the 
thumb  and  finger,  and  manipulating  them 
with  the  masher — a  tedious  process.  The 
galley,  which  was  of  lead  and  locked  with 
lead  side-stick  and  quoins,  was  then 
taken  to  a  tank  fifty  feet  long,  which  con- 
tained lye  to  a  depth  of  about  four  inches 
and  was  a  general  depository  for  all 
hands — each  slugging  his  galleys,  noting 
their  relative  position  and  allowing  them 
to  soak  for  one  day.  Galleys  deposited 
the  previous  day  were  then  taken  out, 
and  after  a  thorough  rinsing,  were  ready 
for  distribution.  Working  in  the  lye 
gave  one's  nails  a  chronic  "Chink"  tint. 

At  1  o'clock  typesetting  was  begun, 
that  is,  rby  one-third  of  the  gang,  which 
was  divided  into  three  phalanxes — the 
second  one  beginning  at  2,  the  third  at 
3,  and  each  working  two  hours.  At  3 
the.  first  division  would  resume  distribu- 
tion, which  the  third  would  complete  be- 
fore composition.  Thus,  by  5  o'clock, 
six  hours  'had  been  put  in  on  each  case. 
From  5  to  7  was  given  to  rest  and  re- 

71 


HANDSET    REMINISCENCES 

freshment,  during  which  many  were 
prone  to  catch  an  hour's  nap.  Then  be- 
gan the  sure-enough  day's  work,  a  steady 
pull  of  at  least  seven  and  often  nine 
hours,  barring  half  an  hour  for  lunch  at 
low  12,  when  "Old  Wheezy  Jane,"  carry- 
ing a  corpulent  basket  and  a  tank  of  hot 
coffee,  would  come  staggering  up  and 
nearly  fall  dead  on  the  fifth  landing — 
for  the  elevator  had  not  then  been  thought 
of,  or  even  dreamed  of. 

There  was  little  richness  in  the  way 
of  fat  takes  and  premium^.  Ringers  were 
the  exception.  The  stayer  who  could 
put  in  two  weeks  in  succession  w&s 
tough.  There  were  several  iron  men  who 
could  stand  it  to  stay  three  and  even  four 
straight  weeks.  But  when  they  "fell," 
it  was  for  a  month's  booze  at  least. 

No  one  familiar  with  the  routine  of  a 
morning  daily  marveled  at  the  proverbial 
dissipation  of  the  old-time  printer.  He 
came  from  under  the  hot  gas-light  in  the 
morning,  exhausted  and  pale  as  a  church 
bedbug.  No  wonder  his  coppers  got  hot 
pretty  often.  He  needed  rest,  but  was 
prone  to  substitute  stimulants  and  forget 
the  downy  couch. 

In  the  Herald  the  "ghost"  walked  Sat- 
urdays, exactly  at  high  12.  By  low  12, 
probably  not  less  than  sixty  per  cent 

72 


FIFTY    YEARS   AGO 

of  those  not  working  were  well  jagged  up 
while  the  workers,  largely  subs.,  lifted  a 
few  on  the  way  home. 

The  hundreds  of  subs,  who  sojourned 
around  "Printing  House  Square,"  where 
were  most  of  the  daily  offices,  were,  jok- 
ingly divided  into  three  grades,  called 
the  first,  second  and  third  boards.  Mem- 
bers of  the  first  were  reliable,  the  seconds 
were  all  right  if  sober,  while  no  recog- 
nized third-boarder  would  sully  his  re- 
putation by  showing  up  so  long  as  he 
knew  where  he  could  get  another  beer, 
and  the  regular  who  put  him  on  was  held 
responsible  if  his  cases  went  dark. 
*  * 

Speaking  of  dark  cases  reminds  me  of 
some  funny  incidents.  Vacating  cases 
without  permission  meant  discharge  with- 
out notice.  One  night  an  "old  standby," 
who  had  taken  some  too  many,  tried  to 
beg  off,  saying  he  wouldn't  be  as  good 
as  a  wooden  man.  Being  told  that  every 
case  had  to  be.  represented  that  night,  if 
only  by  a  stick  of  wood,  he  stood  a  piece 
of  cordwood  against  his  rack,  turned  on 
the  gas  and  lit  out.  When  the  foreman 
came  around  and  saw  the.  "wooden  sub," 
he  grinned  a  grin  that  meant  that  the 
ruse  had  won. 

Another  of    the    boys    who    made    the 

73 


HANDSET   REMINISCENCES 

ancient  excuse,  said  he  might  as  well  be 
dead  for  all  the  good  he  could  do,  but 
was  handed  the  ultimatum  that  some 
one  alive  or  dead  must  be  on  his  cases. 
He  went  into  the  street,  and,  hailing  a 
green  Irishman,  asked  him  if  he  wanted 
to  make  a  dollar. 

"Sure,"  was  the  reply. 

Mike  was  piloted  to  No.  17,  shown  how 
to  hold  the  stick,  told  to  imitate  the  mo- 
tions of  his  neighbors  whenever  the  boss 
came,  around,  and  a  piece  of  dead  manu- 
script was  laid  on  the  case.  After  awhile 
his  peculiar  movements  attracted  the  no- 
tice, of  the  foreman,  who  asked  him  what 
was  the  matter. 

"Well,  sor,"  replied  Mike,  "it's  a  hen 
must-a  done  that  writin'  wid  her  two 
feet." 

The  trick  was  so  nervy  that  nothing 
came  of  it,  but,  a    little    later,    another 
philosopher  who  tried  it  hit  the  pave. 
*     4 

The  Herald  for  many  years  occupied  a 
five-story  building  and  basement  at  the 
corner  of  Nassau  and  Fulton  streets.  In 
1867  it  removed  to  a  handsome  structure, 
built  expressly  for  its  use,  on  the  corner 
of  Ann  and  Broadway,  in  the  same  block, 
the  site  having  been  made  vacant  by  the 
burning  of  Barnum's  museum.  This  fire 

74 


FIFTY   YEARS   AGO 

destroyed  what  was  no  doubt  the.  largest 
and  most  valuable  exhibition  of  curios 
ever  seen  in  this  country,  up  to  that  time, 
P.  T.  Barnum  having  spent  large  sums 
and  much  of  his  life  in  collecting  them. 
They  crowded  five  stories  of  a  great 
building,  and  burned  like  tinder.  I  am 
about  to  relate  some  incidents  connected 
with  this  fire,  but,  in  passing,  should 
mention  that  quite  a  number  of  years  ago 
the  Herald  moved  up  town  to  its  present 
location,  at  about  Thirty-third  and  Broad- 
way. 

When  time  permitted,  the  Herald 
printers  were  wont  to  repair  to  the  roof  of 
the  old  office  for  a  bit  of  fresh  air.  One 
morning  about  11  o'clock  several  of  us 
who  had  gone  to  the  roof  noticed  dense 
smoke  issuing  from  a  small  restaurant 
occupying  the  inside  (Ann  street)  corner 
of  the  museum  building,  where  we  often 
went  for  lunches.  This  restaurant  was 
noted  for  having  folding  doors  opening 
into  the  museum  for  the  convenience  of 
the  "fat  lady,"  who  hit  the  'beam  at  550 
pounds,  more  or  less ;  also,  for  a  prodi- 
gious bench,  'built  of  two-inch  oak  plank, 
expressly  for  the  lady's  use. 

W'hen  she  dined  a  crowd  was  attracted ; 
but  the  smoke  that  morning  proved  a 
better  drawing  card,  for,  in  a  minute  an 

75 


HANDSET   REMINISCENCES 

excited  mob  blocked  Ann  street.  We 
made  a  rush  for  the  pavement,  though  by 
the  time  we  arrived  it  seemed  like  the 
whole  building  was  in,  flames,  so  dry  and 
inflammable  were  its  contents. 

I  elbowed  my  way  through  Fulton 
to  Broadway,  where  the  heat  was  so 
fierce  that  the  crowd,  packed  like  sardines 
in  a  box,  had  to  back  down  to  the  next 
corner.  Here  a  cry  suddenly  arose  that 
the  lions,  tigers  and  big  snakes  had  es- 
caped from  their  cages  and  were  loose 
on  Broadway. 

Talk  about  a  stampede — you  ought  to 
have  seen  that  mob  getting  away,  with 
my  hat,  coat  tails  and  temper.  Directly 
ahead  of  me  was  a  handsome,  richly 
dressed  young  woman,  held  a  prisoner  by 
the  crush.  A  big  brute  of  a  fellow  had 
jammed  one  of  his  feet  through  her  dress 
and  tilting  hoops  (they  were  a  la  mode), 
and  she  was  borne  to  her  knees.  In  a 
minute  she  would  have  been  trampled 
to  death,  but  I  had  the  presence  of  mind 
to  grab  her  around  the  waist,  and  tear- 
ing her  loose  by  main  strength,  I  carried 
her  along  until  the  rush  subsided. 

Without  even  a  hat  with  which  to 
shade  my  eyes,  I  then  had  to  take  no- 
tice that  about  all  she  had  on  was  a  neck 
ribbon  and  shoes.  I  wrapped  my  coat 

76 


FIFTY   YEARS   AGO 

around  her,  though  it  wasn't  much  good 
with  the  tails  gone.  A  "cop"  helped  me 
to  put  her  in  a  cab,  and  took  her  home. 

I  was  painfully  modest  in  those  days, 
or  this  might  have  proved  the  beginning 
of  a  life  romance.  I  never  saw  nor  heard 
of  the  girl  again. 

James  Gordon  Bennett,  Sr.,  in  his  de- 
clining years  was  generous,  but  irascible 
and  sharp  after  what  was  legitimately 
his  due.  In  these  qualities  he  had  none 
the  best  of  Phineas  T.  Barnum,  who  prid- 
ed himself  on  being  "the  czar  of  all  the 
showmen,"  which  he  truly  was,  and  as 
such  courted  acknowledgment.  Because 
of  adverse  criticism  or  some  business  dis- 
agreement, a  war  to  the  knife  broke  out 
between  the  two,  and  for  a  long  time  the 
latter  not  only  did  not  patronize  the 
Herald,  but  over  announcements  in  other 
papers  printed  the  legend,  "Barnum's 
does  not  advertise  in  the  New  York  Her- 
old." 

This  fight  was  on  when  the  museum 
burned.  While  the  ruins  wfere  still  smok- 
ing Mir.  Bennett  fell  in  love  with  the 
site  and  determined,  if  possible,  to  secure 
it.  Negotiating  with  his  arch  enemy  be- 
ing out  of  the  question,  he  employed  a 
discreet  agent,  who  effected  the  purchase. 
The  price  paid  was  said  to  be  $1,100,000, 

77 


HANDSET   REMINISCENCES 

about  $1,000  per  front  inch  on  Broadway. 
Mr.  Barnum  was  really  delighted  to  get 
rid  of  the  ground,  as  it  was  no  longer 
good  for  his  business,  the  residence  por- 
tion of  the  city  having  started  on  its 
travels  up  town  ;  but  when  he  learned 
that  the  canny  old  Scotchman  of  the  Her- 
ald was  its  real  purchaser,  his  wrath 
knew  no  bounds.  He  tore  his  hair,  it  was 
said.  The  longer  he  brooded  over  it  the 
madder  he  got,  and  his  critics  were  mean 
enough  to  say  the  incident  soured  the 
rest  of  his  life. 


Among  Herald  "notables"  during  my 
time  'Superintendent  Wm.  Smythe  was 
in  the  lead.  During  business  hours  he 
was  "Mr.  Smythe,"  strictly  on  his  job, 
and  knew  nobody.  Out  with  the  boys 
until  daybreak,  he  was  plain  "Bill,"  want- 
ing to  fight  the  man  who  called  him 
"Mister,"  was  hale  fellow  well  met  with 
us  all,  and  never  missed  a  "straight."  At 
peep  of  day  he  would  go  to  sleep  in  a 
chair  backed  up  against  the  wall,  sit  one 
hour,  then  perform  his  morning's  ablu- 
tions, drink  a  cup  of  black  coffee,  and 
show  up  at  his  desk  bright  as  a  dollar. 

Then  there  was  Dick  Kimber,  very 
old  and  peevish  but  digging  at  case  for 
a  4,000  string,  who  in  1836  made  up  the 


FIFTY    YEARS   ACTO 

first  forms  of  the  Herald;  Jack  Watson, 
with  "fair  round  belly  with  good  capon 
lined,"  whom  we  called  "Jack  Falstaff," 
for  he  took  in  hand  every  new  "Prince 
Hal"  who  came  to  the  chapel  and  gradu- 
ated him  as  a  rounder;  "Old  Fegee,"  a 
reformed  sailor,  who  was  shipwrecked 
many  times  and  for  years  marooned  on 
a  South  Sea  island;  Bill  Leaning,  with 
a  record  of  setting  on  a  fifty-dollar  bet 
125,000,  regular  hook  copy,  in  seven 
days  regular  time — the  average  string 
having  been  not  more  than  60,000. 

With  a  question  mark  I  shall  always 
recall  "Slug  11"  because  it  was  repre- 
sented by  an  odd  genius,  who  lives  in  my 
memory  as  a  mystery.  In  the  office  we 
became  quite  chummy,  and  I  had  reason 
to  feel  he  was  square  and  true.  I  do  not 
remember  to  have  ever  met  him  outside 
of  the  composing  room,  or  of  knowing 
him  by  any  other  name  than  "Speck" — 
presumably  a  nickname,  as  his  face  was 
a  mass  of  freckles.  He  was  a  skinny 
little  fellow,  weighing  not  more  than  120 
pounds,  and  I  remember  among  his  other 
oddities  that  when  at  case  he  habitually 
wore  a  red  handkerchief  tied  loosely 
about  his  neck. 

One  day  'he  told  me  in  strict  confidence 
that  he  came  from  a  noble  English  fam- 
ily ;  that  when  a  youth  he  was  obliged  to 

79 


HANDSET   REMINISCENCES 

fly  from  home  and  native  land  for  killing 
a  man,  and  that  some  time  with  more  leis- 
ure he  would  tell  me  all  about  it — but 
never  did. 

At  this  late  day,  with  my  eye  teeth  cut 
and  gone,  I  am  inclined  to  believe  this 
burst  of  confidence  was  a  creation,  out  of 
which  he  got  more  or  less  quiet  enjoy- 
ment. But  I  am  now  betraying  it,  mys- 
tery or  no  mystery,  for  the  first  time. 

"Speck"  usually  worked  a  week,  then 
was  off  a  week  or  ten  days.  It's  a  cinch 
that  while  away  he  indulged  in  a  weak- 
ness for  "nose,  painting;"  for  when  he 
came  on  the  fine,  aquiline  handle  to  his 
face  was  always  very  red,  while  other 
features  to  the  back  of  his  neck  had  a 
tint  of  the  same — something  between  the 
rich  brown  of  a  ham  and  a  sunset  glow. 
Another  indication  was  that  for  the  first 
two  or  three  days  he  was  very  nervous, 
blue  and  irritable. 

His  cases  were  next  to  the  dump. 
When  some  other  bundle  of  nerves  pied  a 
line  in  emptying,  Speck  would  jump,  may 
be  pie  one  himself,  and  yell  "Chick, 
chick,  chick!  give  'em  water  and  clean 
the  coop!" — or  something  like.  When  oc- 
casionally a  whole  stickful  was  pied,  he 
nearly  landed  with  his  feet  in  the  space 
box,  figuratively  speaking.  "My  God!" 

80 


IN  THE   EARLY  SIXTIES 

he  would  shriek,  "why  didn't  you  tie  a 
string  around  it?  Somebody  get  the  dish- 
pan  and  a  broom;!  Was  your  necktie  in 
it?  Call  the  cops." 

These  outbursts,  often  several  times 
of  a  night,  furnished  plenty  of  amuse- 
ment, and  mingled  with  his  naturally 
genial  disposition  made  him  popular. 

Recently  an  account  of  the  death  of 
"Speck"  White  (otherwise  Arthur  Fennel 
White)  was  published.  In  a  sense  it  was 
meet  that  my  dear  old  Speck  should  have 
been  named  "White,"  for  being  at  times 
very  red  and  very  blue,  his  "banner" 
would  thus  have  represented  all  of  the 
national  colors. 

He  died  at  New  Haven,  Conn., 
where  he  had  spent  some  of  his  later 
years,  and  is  credited  with  having  writ- 
ten the  following  appeal  for  forgiveness 
when  he  knew  there  were  but  a  few 
weeks  for  him  to  live — 

"I  ask  forgiveness  for  none  of  the 
deeds  or  misdeeds  of  my  charity  syndi- 
cate, but  for  one,  thoughtless  act.  I  feel 
and  have  always  felt  extreme  sorrow  for 
my  Boston  transgression  of  the  live  cod- 
fish eyeball,  which  in  my  trembling  right 
hand  I  showed  in  sorrow,  with  a  red 
handkerchief  over  my  good  eye,  to  Bos- 
ton tight-wad  printers  to  raise  the  wind 

81 


HANDSET   REMINISCENCES 

when  all  else  had  failed.  In  honor  the 
Boston  Herald  chapel  raised  $60  for  a 
new  eye.  I  had  plenty  of  eyes,  except 
red  eyes,  so  I  transferred  the  appropria- 
tion to  the  department  of  ways  and 
means ;  and  was  (by  this  overt  act  ostra- 
cised from  the  city  of  beans  and  intel- 
lectuality. I  ask  Boston's  forgiveness.  I 
was  never  proud  of  the.  experience.  It 
was  the  most  remarkable  piece  of  pan- 
handling of  ancient  or  modern  typo- 
graphical history." 

I  believe  my  dear  old  Speck  of  the 
Herald  had  the  genius  and  nerve  to  turn 
a  trick  like  that.  The  Boston  Herald 
chapel  should  now  have  the  further 
charity  to  resolve  that  he  was  merely  the 
victim  of  an  uncontrollably  playful  na- 
ture, and  let  it  go  at  that. 


In  the  Early  Sixties. 

The  glamor  that  lingers  around  tales 
of  the  diggings  days  of  California  and 
trials  and  struggles  which  beset  most  of 
the  argonauts  in  journeying  thither 
makes  them  of  abiding  interest. 

I  was  not  a  49er,  nor  yet  a  59er,  am  not 
a  past  master  at  story  telling,  and  have 
no  hair-raising  incidents  to  relate,  yet 
trust  this  sketch  of  a  trip  to  San  Fran- 
cisco in  the  near  early  days  and  my  ex- 
periences enroute  and  on  the  coast  may 
not  lack  in  interest. 

Leaving  New  York  City  in  the  latter 
part  of  November,  1860,  I  passed  through 
the  Golden  Gate  via  Panama  some  days 
before  Christmas.  Having  reached  New 
York  from  Rochester  but  a  couple,  of 
hours  before  the  steamer-  North  Star  was 
to  cast  off  for  Aspinwall  (now  Colon)  I 
had  to  hustle.  Including  several  com- 
panies of  soldiers  and  their  officers  over 
twelve  hundred  passengers  were  booked, 
and  every  berth  was  taken.  Rather  than 
wait  two  weeks  for  the  next  steamer,  I 
decided  to  take  chances — bought  a  second 
cabin  ticket  and  went  aboard. 

83 


HANDSET   REMINISCENCES 

Hand  baggage,  boxes  and  bundles  were 
so  piled  up  in  the  cabins  it  was  some  time 
before  I  could  find  even  a  seat.  Time 
for  "turning  in"  having  arrived  without 
any  regular  movement  being  made  to 
straighten  things  out  I  began  to  be 
fidgity,  and  taking  a  flask  from  my  grip 
was  about  to  "brace  up,"  when  a  waiter 
hove  in  sight.  At  a  glance  he  had  been 
on  a  big  skate — looked  awful  shaky  and 
despondent.  The  thought  struck  me  I 
might  turn  Good  Samaritan  and  profit  by 
his  misery. 

"Hello,  Jack,"  I  hailed.  "What's  gnaw- 
ing? You  look  like  you  are  about  all 
in." 

"You've  got  me.  I'd  give  "my  interest 
in  heaven  for  something  to  steady  my 
nerves,  and  can't  get  a  sup  aboard  this 
ship.  There's  strict  orders  at  the  bar  not 
to  let  any  of  the  help  have  liquor,  and 
it's  a  'fire'  to  panhandle  a  passenger." 

"Then  it's  lucky  I  hailed  you.  Here's 
a  bracer,  right  now,  in  spite  of  the  regu- 
lations." 

He  snatched  the  bottle,  but  after  a 
long  pull  was  profuse  with  apologies  and 
thanks. 

"Never  mind  that  stuff,"  I  said.  "But 
see  here,  I  haven't  even  a  berth — all  sold 
before  I  got  my  ticket.  When  you  can, 

84 


IN  THE   EARLY  SIXTIES 

clear  a  sofa  for  me  so  I  can  lie  down. 
At  midnight  hail  me  for  another  life- 
saver,  and  in  the  morning  I'll  fix  you 
again.  Meanwhile  keep  your  eye,  skinned 
for  a  vacant  berth,  overlooked.  I'll  give 
you  $5  for  one." 

I  got  the  sofa  and  a  blanket,  all  right. 
Trust  to  Jack's  not  forgetting  the  mid- 
night appointment.  As  he  turned  away 
he  said: 

"I'll  do  the  very  best  I  can  for  you 
tomorrow,  never  fear.  There'll  be  rough 
weather  before  morning.  A  sou'easter 
has  struck  us.  If  you  don't  want  to  be 
sea-sick,  take  brandy  at  short  intervals. 
It's  a  preventive,  though  I'd  advise  you  to 
let  nature  take  its  course — you'll  feel  bet- 
ter afterwards." 

I  took  the  brandy,  and  was  not  sick 
that  night  or  during  the  voyage,  with  the 
result  that  for  three  months  I  had  little 
taste  and  no  appetite.  The  sea  had 
turned  me  upside  down  and  so  left  me. 

The  next  day,  thanks  to  Jack,  I  was 
located  in  the  lower  berth  of  a  hurricane 
deck  stateroom — a  $225  layout,  as  against 
my  $150  second-class  passage.  I  grate- 
fully tendered  Jack  the  $5.  He  looked 
insulted.  A  tip  didn't  fit  the  case,  as  he 
saw  it.  It  is  such  a  pity  that  his  breed 
of  waiters,  like  the  dodo,  is  now  extinct. 

85 


HANDSET   REMINISCENCES 

"You  must  take  me  for  an  ingrate,"  he 
said.  "You  saved  my  life  last  night,  for 
I'd  a  died  afore  morning.  If  there's  any- 
thing else  I  can  do  for  you,  jog  me." 

After  "morning  mess"  I  took  a  stroll 
on  the  main  deck  and  brought  up  at  the 
steerage,  where  the  many  third-class  pas- 
sengers were  adjusting  themselves  to  the 
discomforts  and  not  many  comforts  of 
roughing  it  at  sea.  Happily  for  them 
this  trip  was  to  end  in  eight  days,  when 
transferring  by  railroad  across  the  isth- 
mus to  the  Pacific  steamship  at  Panama 
would  afford  a  twenty-four  hours  respite 
from  the  aching  monotony  of  a  cramped 
existence. 

One  cannot  be  long  among  the  lowly 
on  a  crowded  ship  without  meeting  with 
conditions  appealing  to  his  sympathy. 
O'ne  of  the  most  pitiful  sights  I  ever  wit- 
nessed was  on  this  morning — a  group 
consisting  of  a  mother  traveling  alone 
with  her  six  little  children,  all  seasick 
and  the  mother  too  ill  to  care  for  twin 
infants  at  her  breast.  All  the  women 
near  her  needing  attention  themselves, 
I  was  one  of  a  committee  of  three  to  do 
what  could  be  done  to  make  this  family 
comfortable.  Altogether,  we.  were  not  as 
efficient,  I  am  afraid,  as  one  "Mark  Tap- 
ley,"  but  we  did  the  best  we  could,  and 

86 


IN  THE   EARLY  SIXTIES 

I  still  see  the  look  of  gratitude  with  which 
the  poor  woman  repaid  us. 

I  was  leaning  against  the  side  rail 
reaching  for  a  breath  of  fresh  air,  when 
a  funny  thing  happened  in  proof  that  I 
was  not  the  only  nervy  wayfarer  getting 
the  best  of  the  steamship  company. 
Standing  beside  me  was  a  buxom  woman 
in  tilting  hoops — fashionable  in  those 
days.  Her  dress  was  spread  out  over 
four  feet  of  the  deck,  forming  a  canopy 
like  a  circus  tent  in  miniature.  By  her 
on  the  other  side  was  a  runt  of  a  fellow, 
whose  head  barely  reached  her  shoulder. 
He  was  stocky,  and  must  have  been 
broken  off  too  high  up  for  his  feet  were 
abnormally  great.  As  the  purser  and 
ticket  takers  came  along  there  was  a 
lightning  consultation  between  the  two, 
then  the  little  man  suddenly  ducked  and 
disappeared.  The  men  were  inspecting 
the  woman's  ticket  when  a  lurch  of  the 
vessel  threw  one  out  of  balance  and  his 
feet  went  under  the  tent  and  on  to  a 
pair  of  No.  12  cowhides. 

"Pardon  me,  madam,"  he  said  good 
naturedly,  "I  reckon  you'll  be  able  to  go 
ashore  without  assistance.  You'll  have 
to  take  a  reef  in  them  feet,  if  you  don't 
want  'em  stepped  on." 

So  the  little  man  made  his  ruse  work, 
for  that  time;  but  lie  was  not  solid,  hav 

87 


HANDSET   REMINISCENCES 

ing  yet  to  pass  the  isthmus  railroad  con- 
ductor and  the  Pacific  steamship  purser. 
Tfhose  huge  skirts  were  the  most 
abominable  fashion  of  the  nineteenth 
century,  yet  this  incident  illustrates  that 
for  utility,  compared  with  the  present- 
day  hobble,  they  had  a  redeeming  quality 
for  wearers  who  wanted  to  secrete  things. 
Shoplifters  and  such,  by  attaching  hooks 
to  their  hoops,  could  hide  and  walk  off 
with  enough  plunder  to  stock  a  small  var- 
iety store. 

From  a  lively  crowd  on  the  North 
Star  I  singled  out  three  pretty  good  sing- 
ers for  running  mates,  and  we  organized 
a  quartet  that  was  soon  popular.  They 
were  M.  B.  Whittier,  a  gaunt  six-footer 
from  Rhode  Island  (a  cousin  of  the  poet 
W'hittier)  whose  ship  name,  was  "Yank;" 
"Delaware,"  a  sailor  with  beady  black 
eyes  and  a  wicked-looking  knife  in  his 
vest,  who  only  held  a  place,  in  my  esteem 
by  having  a  fine  voice;  "Tex,"  (from 
Texas),  and  "Bowery" — myself,  so-called 
to  distinguish  me  from  "N^ew  York,"  also 
hailing  from  the  big  city. 

We  were  up  in  a  number  of  popular 
selections.  On  fine  moonlight  nights, 
with  the  deck  crowded  with  promenaders 
and  groups  of  sitters,  including  the  mili- 
tary officers  and  their  wives,  except  for 

88 


IN  THE   EA.RL.Y  SIXTIES 

the  laboring  of  the  machinery  stillness 
prevailed  when  we  rendered  this  favorite 
sea  song  of  the  time — 

THE  BUCCANEER'S  BRIDE. 

Away,  away, 

O'er  the  'boundless  deep, 
We'll  merrily,  merrily  roam; 

Come,  Anna,  break 

The  mermaid's  sleep, 
With  the  song  of  your  seagirt  home. 

I'll  make  thee  queen 

Of  a  brighter  scene, 
Where  no  chilling  winds  are  known; 

Where  the  dark-eyed  maid, 

'Neath  the  palm  tree  shade, 
Sings  sweet  of  her  island  home. 

On  the  deck  they  stand, 

My  gallant  band, 
To  guide  thee,  love,  over  the  sea, 

To  the  spicy  isles, 

Where  the  bright  eu'n  smiles 
In  golden  beams  for  thee. 

Bring  flowers  with  thee, 

And  my  heart  back  to  me, 
Oh  come  when  the  seabird  calls; 

B,ut  at  anchor  we'll  ride 

For  the  buccaneer's  bride, 
Till  the  dew  on  the  twilight  falls. 

The  serenaders  rarely  ended  an  even- 
ing without  an  invitation  to  cake  and 
wine  at  some  of  the  officers'  quarters, 

89 


HANDSET   REMINISCENCES 

and  even  resolutions  were  drawn  thank- 
ing us  for  our  efforts  to  lessen  the  listless 
hours. 

No  pleasure  trip  could  now  'be  so 
inviting  to  me  as  a  run  down  to  and 
across  the  isthmus  once  more — especially 
since  the  marvellous  canal  has  added  ad- 
ditional attractions.  Yet  it  is  a  question 
if  the  primeval  conditions  which  the 
hardy  '49ers  overcame  before  the  railroad 
was  built — making  the  journey  across  to 
the  Pacific  in  rude  boats  on  the  Chagres 
river,  and  eke  on  mules  and  burros 
through  tropical  jungle  and  morass — 
would  not  far  more  attract  the  old  ad- 
venturer to  a  review  of  those  early  scenes 
than  any  triumph  of  modern  engineering. 
The  early  days  and  their  almost  impos- 
sible trails  are  gone,  while  engineering 
skill  and'  money  will  succeed  to  a  greater 
triumph  when  the  Nicaragua  canal  is 
built — which  it  will  be. 

A  ride  across  the  isthmus  by  railroad 
in  the  sixties  is  remembered  by  those 
who  made  it  as  an  intensely  interesting 
experience.  It  was  fresh  in  the  minds 
of  travelers  of  those  days  that  the  isth- 
mus road  was  completed  at  an  awful  sac- 
rifice of  human  life  and  an  immense  out- 
lay of  treasure.  A  considerable  part  was 
built  through  dreadful  swamps,  on  piles 

90 


IN  THE   EARLY  SIXTIES 

and  bridges  chaining  one  sunken  moun- 
tain with  another,  and  at  times  la'borers 
from  New  York  and  other  parts  fell  vic- 
tims to  the  Panama  fever  at  the  rate  of 
nearly  a  shipload  a  day.  Those  who 
went  to  work  bade  good  bye  to  comrades 
left  behind,  not  expecting  to  return.  It 
was  asserted  and  believed  that  every  tie 
in  the  road  represented  a  dead  man's 
bones.  White  men,  West  India  islanders 
and  Chinese  at  length  refused  to  be  lured 
to  almost  certain  death  by  the  big  pay 
offered  and  the  enervated  natives,  who 
had  never  before  seen  a  shovel  or  a  wheel- 
barrow, were  finally  employed  to  com- 
plete, the  undertaking. 

The  scenery  through  which  the  road 
passes,  strange  to  northern  eyes  and 
bright  with  tropical  foliage,  was  deeply 
interesting,  yet  I  could  not  lift  my 
thoughts  from  the  dreadful  slough  of 
death  over  which  we  were  passing. 

Compared  with  this  route  the  one 
used  in  those  days  via  Nicaragua  was 
longer,  and  in  places  fatiguing,  but  many 
preferred  it  on  account  of  its  lower  tem- 
perature, healthier  climate  and  grander 
scenery.  From  the  Atlantic  side,  except 
in  very  dry  seasons,  we  could  travel  from 
the  Carribean  sea  up  the  Rio  del  Norte 
by  flat  boat  to  Lake  Nicaragua,  there 
taking  steamer  for  a  100-mile  trip  nearly 

91 


HANDSET   REMINISCENCES 

to  its  northwestern  end.  The  lake  and 
its  surroundings  presents  a  marvel  of 
grandeur  and  beauty.  It  is  hemmed  in 
by  mountain  peaks  and  ridges,  and  con- 
tains many  islands,  on  one  of  which — 
Zapatra — is  a  monolith  bearing  mystic 
hieroglyphics — a  silent  witness  to  the 
presence  there  in  the  distant  past  of  an 
enlightened  race.  In  the1  midst  of  a  clus- 
ter of  islets,  many  in  number,  the  vol- 
cano of  Mombacho  lifts  its  smoking  peak. 
The  altitude  of  the  lake,  which  is  forty 
miles  in  width,  is  110  feet  above  sea  level, 
suggesting  that  some  day  this  body  of 
water  may  become  a  source  of  tremend- 
ous power  for  industrial  uses.  From  the 
lake  to  the  little  land-locked  harbor  of 
San  Juan  del  Sur,  was  a  tedious  mule-back 
journey. 

This  reference  to  the  once,  famous 
Nicaragua  route,  by  which  I  later  trav- 
eled, is  made,  partly  as  a  prelude  to  a 
little  anecdote  that  will  bear  telling. 

Along  in  the  fifties  "M|iser  Eli,"  a  Ne,w 
England  farmer,  left  the  diggings  at  Bid- 
well's  Bar  girt  in  a  capacious  belt,  said  to 
have  contained  $6,000  in  golden  double 
eagles.  He  must  have  been  a  powerful 
man  if  he  walked  off  easily  with  such  a 
load,  but  when  it  came  to  money  it  was 
said  his  lust  for  it  would  have  enabled 
him  to  pack  a  ton.  Miser  Eli  was  pusil- 

92 


IN  THE   EARLY  SIXTIES 

animously  mean,  and  when  starting1  for 
home  the  Bar  boys  figured  he  ought  to 
have  had  for  his  motto,  "Git  thar,  Eli, 
without  dropping  a  short  'bit  on  the  way." 
Instead  of  turning  over  his  gold  for 
exchange  at  a  Frisco  bank,  he  reckoned 
it  would  be  safer  and  cheaper  to  take  it 

with  him. 

Arriving  in  due  time  at  Nicaragua 
lake,  instead  of  taking  passage  on  the 
regular  steamer  for  San  Juan  river,  to 
save  $5  he  sailed  on  a  schooner.  There 
was  a  stiff  breeze,  and  he  was  sitting  on 
deck  enjoying  an  old  pipe,  the  scenery 
and  thoughts  of  soon  seeing  the  home  in 
Vermont,  when  the  schooner  suddenly 
tacked,  the  boom  swung  around  and  in 
a  twinkling  Eli,  his  precious  belt,  hopes 
and  pipe  were  swept  overboard. 

The  captain  noted  that  for  a  moment 
a  few  bubbles  marked  the  spot  where 
he  disappeared,  in  water  of  unknown 
depth.  No  one  could  have  found  the 
exact  spot  again,  or  as  suggested  by  the 
Bar  'boys,  a  buoy  might  have  been  an- 
chored there,  bearing  this  legend: 

"Days,    months,    years   and    ages    shall    circle 

away, 
And  yet  the  vast  waters  above  thee  shall 

roll, 

Earth  loses  her  pattern,  forever  and  aye — 
Oh,  Eli  boy,  Eli  boy,  peace  to  thy  soul." 
(Slightly  altered.) 

93 


HANDSET    REMINISCENCES 

Leaving  New  York  in  the  edge  of 
winter  and  landing  eight  days  later  in 
the  edge  of  spring  was  like  being  trans- 
lated from  mid-winter  to  mid-summer, 
only  more  so,  as  Aspinwall  was  but  7j/2 
degrees  from  the  equator  and  its  coolest 
weather  too  warm  for  comfort.  We 
stepped  out  of  a  foot  of  snow  in  New 
York,  while  attending  our  landing  was 
the  incessant  droning  of  insects,  in  an 
atmosphere  "heavy  with  sighs  from  sweet 
orange  groves"  and  the  odors  of  trop- 
ical foliage  and  flowers. 

Aspinwall  on  "steamer  days"  was  a 
red  hot  town  in  more  ways  than  one. 
At  other  times  I  imagine  it  lolled  in  the 
shade,  too  lazy  to  eat — the  only  subject 
for  thought  'being  the  probable  "catch" 
from  the  next  arrival.  Incoming  steam- 
ers always  found  it  in  holiday  attire  by 
day,  and  brilliantly  lighted  by  night.  All 
its  nets  were  set  and  lines  baited  for 
suckers. 

We  went  ashore  at  8  in  the  evening. 
Yank  and  I,  electing  to  take  in  the  sights, 
deployed  as  a  guide  an  old  native,  dark 
as  Erebus.  There  was  really  not  much 
to  interest  us,  though  at  the  end  of  our 
tramp  we  were  witnesses  in  a  case  of 
tropical  punishment  for  drunkenness, 
that  for  effectiveness  was  a  revelation 
and  more  simple  and  less  fussy  than  our 

94 


IN  THE   EARLY  SIXTIES 

justice  court  methods.  Our  guide,  after 
pocketing  his  peso,  threatened  to  quit  if 
we  did  not  treat  him  to  aquadente  every 
time  we  passed  a  bar.  Tlhat  being  very 
often,  he  soon  became  too  heavily  laden 
to  pursue  a  bee  line.  Suddenly  a  couple 
of  native  policemen  seized  and  laid  him 
not  very  gently  on  the  walk,  face  down. 
Then  stripping  his  ebony  form  from 
waist  to  knees,  they  fanned  him  vigor- 
ously with  ratans,  which  at  every  stroke 
left  a  white  streak  and  elicited  a  grating 
of  teeth.  When  told  to  go,  he  "stood  not 
upon  the  order  of  his  going"  but  went  as 
the  crow  flies.  The  police  said  it  was 
their  way  of  treating  such  cases,  and 
the  culprit  seldom  came  back  for  more. 

My  breakfast  was  a  meal  long  to  be 
remembered,  m/ostly  for  what  I  did  not 
eat.  O>n  turning  a  coffee  cup  that  had 
probably  been  inverted  since  the  last 
steamer  day  I  found  that  a  colony  of 
minute  red  ants  had  pre-empted  it  for  a 
hive.  The  disgusting1  sight  of  them  tem- 
porarily weaned  me  from  my  favorite 
beverage.  Then  I  inspected  a  fricasseed 
chicken  wing.  The  cook  had  neglected 
to  remove  feathers  on  the  under  side,  and 
they  were  the  exact  color  of  an  immense 
buzzard  that  just  then  alighted  on  the 
sill  of  an  open  window,  within  four  feet 
of  my  plate.  He  brought  his  breath  with 

95 


HANDSET   REMINISCENCES 

him.  When  I  essayed  to  shoo  him  away 
by  raising  my  arms  vigorously,  he  came 
right  back  at  me  by  spreading  his  wings 
and  opening  his  mouth,  disgorging  a  lib- 
eral sample,  of  what  he  could  do  in  the 
way  of  raising  a  real  disturbance.  It  was 
the  limit. 

At  Panama  we  hustled  aboard  the 
steamer  Sonora,  and  had  no  time  for 
sight-seeing.  The  purser  in  issuing  me 
a  dining  ticket  by  mistake  used  a  blank 
lirst-class.  Being  ripe  for  adventure,  I 
said  nothing  and  took  a  seat  at  a  first- 
class  table,  while  my  cronies  were  peek- 
ing through  the  cabin  windows,  expect- 
ing to  see  me  thrown  out.  Soon  the 
head  waiter  tapped  me  on  the  shoulder 
and  asked,  politely: 

"Sir,  haven't  you  made  a  mistake? 
This  seat  is  No.  83,  and  here  is  a  gentle- 
man holding  that  numfoer." 

"Then  the  purser  must  have  mixed 
things  up,  for  here  is  my  ticket — No.  83." 

He  took  it  away,  but  soon  returned 
and  said: 

"This  seat  is  in  the  military  officers' 
mess.  Please  vacate  it  and  I'll  give  you 
a  really  better  one." 

It  was  me  for  the  purser's  table — 
seated  alongside  of  him  and  first  to  be 
waited  on,  and  a  bottle  of  wine  as  a  for- 
feit for  the  clumsy  error  he  had  made.  I 


IN  THE   EAJILY  SIXTIES 

showed  up  there  until  the  journey's  end. 
The  laugh  was  not  on  me. 

The  Sonora  had  no  dou'bt  'been  a  good 
ship  in  the  long  ago.  Having  doubled 
the,  horn  when  steamships  in  Pacific  wat- 
ers were  rare  and  since  been  in  constant 
service,  it  had  well  earned  a  final  rest 
down  among  the  homes  of  the  mermaids. 
Its  timbers  complained  at  the  rising  of 
a  ground  swell,  and  groaned  frightfully 
in  rough  weather.  Off  the  Gulf  of 
Tehauntepec  we  encountered  a  gale. 
Great  waves  swept  the  deck,  and  the 
hatches  were  battened  down.  Many 
timid  passengers  retired  to  their  berths, 
while  at  one  time  it  seemed  like  half  of 
those  left  in  the  cabin  were  on  their 
knees — whether  or  not  offering  supplica- 
tions they  only  knew,  for  the  roar  was 
something  awful. 

I  did  hear  one  earnest  prayer,  how- 
ever, put  up  by  an  old  Quaker  from  Phil- 
adelphia, who  was  hanging  on  to  the 
rounds  of  my  chair.  It  was  in  behalf  of 
his  beloved  son,  in  San  Francisco  await- 
ing the  arrival  of  his  father,  whom  he  had 
induced  to  visit  the  coast.  The  suppli- 
cation was  in  effect  that  the  young  man 
might  continue  in  the  straight  and  nar- 
row path  he  had  chosen,  and  meet  his 
parent  in  glory.  Within  a  fortnight  after 
the  old  man's  arrival  in  Frisco  'his 

97 


HANDSET   REMINISCENCES 

straight  and  narrow  son  relieved  him  of 
$1,200 — every  cent  he  had — and  left  for 
parts  unknown. 

Some  time  during  the  night  before 
the  morning  we  were  due  at  our  pier  the 
Sonora  ran  into  a  fishing  schooner,  stav- 
ing such  a  hole  in  her  bow  that  in  spite 
of  all  labor  at  the  pumps  water  gained  in 
the  hold.  A  vessel  with  much  water  in 
her  takes  on  a  motion  that  gives  one  an 
uncanny  sensation  and  makes  the  har- 
diest old  salt  afraid  of  his  sea  legs.  I 
did  not  know  of  the  accident  until  about 
daylight,  when  I  "turned  out."  As  I 
stepped  on  deck  the  old  hulk  gave  a 
lurch  that  nearly  landed  me  on  my  head, 
and  made  me  reflect  whether  I  had  been 
"seas  over"  the  night  before. 

We  made  fast  all  right,  but  say,  you 
ought  to  have  seen  those  terrified  pas- 
sengers make  for  the  gang  plank.  It  was 
a  close  call,  for  the  Sonora  came  near 
sinking  after  being  relieved  of  most  of 
her  freight.  She  never  made  another 
trip. 

Although  by  1861  the  placer  diggings 
'had  nearly  played  out  there  was  little 
let  up  from  the  rush  to  the  coast,  and 
for  years  San  Francisco  was  overrun  by 
fortune  seekers  who  struck  it  anything 
but  rich.  It  was  a  jumping-off  place, 

98 


IN  THE   EARLY  SIXTIES 

two  thousand  miles  from  anywhere — for 
printers.  Los  Angeles  was  a  small  trad- 
ing post  with  a  Spanish  mission.  The 
only  outside  dailies  were  at  Sacramento 
and  Portland — dinky  four-page  sheets. 
Virginia  City  had  only  a  small  weekly 
that  had  been  moved  from  Carson  City. 
In  January,  1861,  when  my  card  went 
into  Eureka  (Frisco)  No.  21,  the  union 
had  129  members — about  sixty  regularly 
employed.  All  other  callings  were  full 
up,  there  was  very  little  of  anything  to 
do,  and  the  typo  was  in  luck  who  got  a 
chance  to  wash  dishes  or  shoot  biscuits 
in  a  restaurant  for  his  grub. 

At  the  time  the.  Alta  California,  Call, 
Herald  and  Evening  Bulletin  (all  four 
pages)  were  the  only  dailies,  six  days  a 
week.  The  Chronicle  and  Examiner  were 
not  thought  of  until  several  years  later. 
The  best  layout  for  me  seemed  on  the 
Herald,  with  seven  regs  and  three  subs, 
and  six  'hours'  composition.  I  showed  up 
there  the  lbe.st  part  of  a  year,  getting  in 
one  to  three  nights  a  week.  The  Herald 
was  on  its  last  legs — quit  a  couple  of 
years  later.  It  was  one  of  the  oldest 
papers  on  the  coast,  popular  until  1853, 
when  the  famous  vigilance  committee 
was  organized.  As  the  vigilantes  were 
mostly  desperadoes,  who  espoused  the 
movement  to  save  their  own  necks,  the 

99 


HANDSET   REMINISCENCES 

Herald  made  free  to  utter  bitter  criti- 
cisms, for  which  it  was  boycotted  and 
in  a  day  it  slumped  from,  a  prosperous 
sheet  to  a  mere  hanger-on — never  to  get 
back. 

For  two  years  conditions  in  the  trade 
were  not  improved.  The  Alta  really  of- 
fered the  best  layout  for  subs.  There 
were  but  twelve  sits,  and  I  often  took  a 
chance  when  eighteen  to  twenty  philos- 
ophers were  waiting  around  the  stone  for 
lightning  to  strike. 

My  recollection  is  that  there  was  no 
protection  whatever  for  "the  wistful." 
Numbers  of  good-hearted  regulars  in  all 
the  offices  (except  the  Bulletin)  laid  off 
at  least  two  days  every  week ;  also,  some 
of  the  meanest  grabbers  I  ever  met  only 
stopped  to  breathe  about  once  a  month. 
On  the  Alta  was  a  sallow,  hollow-eyed 
piker  who  stayed  with  it  two  years,  when 
I  quit  keeping  tab  and  him  still  humping. 
He  gave  a  regular  premium  of  $20  for 
the  ads — his  weekly  net  average  being 
about  $60 — and  of  course  the  premium 
was  an  incentive  for  whoever  got  it  to 
hang  up  a  "ringer." 

There  were  stayers  also  on  the  Call. 
One  w,as  a  real  estate  dealer,  who  put  in 
his  hours  for  rest  at  type-setting,  and  had 
use  for  a  su'b  only  two  or  three  times  a 

100 


IN  THE   EARLY  SIXTIES 

year.  He  wore  an  18-inch  collar,  and 
bore  a  striking  resemblance  to  his  four- 
footed  relatives,  lacking  nothing  in  jowls 
and  wearing  a  rooter  that  he  had  to  tilt 
sideways  to  see  the  spacebox.  There 
were  jolly  good  fellows  on  the  Call,  too, 
who  knew  no  favorites  and  "fell"  to  those 
who  most  needed  work.  Tom  Reed,  the 
foreman — one  of  the  best  and  best-known 
printers  on  the  coast — after  many  moons 
concluded  I  had  been  hanging  on  long 
enough  and  gave  me.  extra  cases;  but 
there  was  only  one  pair,  for  5-point — the 
body  type  being  mostly  6-point — and  I 
was  limited  to  six  hours'  composition. 
The  lower  case  was  so  badly  warped  from 
having  been  through  a  fire  that  it  soon 
became  a  miscegenated  fright,  and  I  threw 
up  in  disgust.  The  sub  I  put  on  was 
Russell  Warren,  afterwards  of  some  note 
as  foreman  of  the,  Chronicle. 

Within  a  month  after  I  hoisted  the 
banner  an  invoice  of  new  cases  came 
around  the  horn  for  the  Call,  and  my  ex- 
tra was  made  a  full  regular.  (In  the 
meantime,  however,  I  had  gone  to  "the 
land  of  Washoe,"  and  was  holding  down 
a  sit  at  $1  per  in  the  booming  new  silver 
mining  camp  of  Virginia  City.) 

The  Evening  Bulletin  was  the  most 
forbidding  layout,  I  reckon,  that  an  anx- 
ious printer  ever  struck.  From  ten  to 
101 


HANDSET   REMINISCENCES 

twelve  regulars  were  employed,  while  two 
subs  eked  out  a  miserable  existence.  I 
was  in  the  composition  room  only  a 
couple  of  times.  Otutside  I  could  hear 
the  hum  of  voices,  but  the  moment  I  en- 
tered an  ominous  silence  ensued,  like 
Father  Time  with  his  hay  tool  had  come 
to  cut  some  one  out.  Not  an  eyelid 
raised,  and  all  seemed  to  be  holding  their 
breath.  I  stood  resting  on  one  leg,  not 
for  long. 

I  relate  the  above  facts  not  as  a  reflec- 
tion on  dear  old  San  Francisco,  but  that 
printers  of  today  may  the  better  appreci- 
ate the  advantages  they  enjoy  under  the. 
wise  and  humane  provisions  that  have 
since  been  installed  by  the  union. 

There  was  one  little  daily — the  Mir- 
ror— that  slipped  my  mind.  After  a 
couple  of  years  of  gasping,  in  the  winter 
of  1861  it  rolled  over  and  died.  It  had 
large  advertising  contracts  with  the  city 
that  kept  it  alive  during  the  fall,  until  a 
crisis  came,  which  was  met  by  half  a 
dozen  printers  who  with  the  union's  con- 
sent agreed  to  get  the  sheet  out  for  sev- 
eral weeks  and  take  for  pay  $1,800  worth 
of  city  scrip,  payable  when  special  taxes 
for  certain  street  work  were  collected. 
The  scheme  looked  good  to  me  as  com- 
pared with  nothing  doing,  and  I  was  one 
of  the  gang  that  took  the  hook. 

102 


IN  THE   EAJ*LY  SIXTIES 

The  contract  was  completed  and  we 
got  our  scrip  all  right.  Then  we  placed 
it  in  the  hands  of  the  foreman,  Tom 
Biail,  who  was  to  lobby  a  bill  through  the 
legislature  authorizing  the  city  to  cash 
the  scrip  in  a  lump  sum,  as  the  taxes  were 
being  paid  in  dribs.  After  several  weeks 
of  waiting  something  happened.  Bail 
went  to  the  treasurer's  office,  one  day. 
Finding  that  half  of  the  taxes  had  been 
paid,  he  drew  the  money  and  took 
steamer  for  Portland,  and  with  him  the 
balance  of  the  scrip. 

We  never  saw  Tom  Bail  again,  but 
had  the  satisfaction  of  learning  that  after 
being  skinned  of  most  of  our  wealth  in 
a  poker  game  he  went  to  Boise  City  and 
there  in  a  fit  of  despondency  hanged  him- 
self. During  my  fifty-four  years  in  the 
business  I  was  never  quite  so  high  up  on 
the  rocks  as  at  this  time. 

That  printers  may  contrast  present 
conditions  in  the  trade  with  what  I  and 
many  others  passed  through  is  my  ex- 
cuse for  lugging  in  this  lugubrious  stuff, 
which  may  lack  in  present-day  interest. 
It  was  the,  grit  of  the  boys  of  those  times, 
in  Frisco  as  elsewhere,  that  gave  the 
typographical  union  its  present  place — 
grandly  towering  above  all  other  labor 
organizations — and  it  seems  to  me,  from 

103 


HANDSET   REMINISCENCES 

a  personal  standpoint  if  you  will,  that 
many  of  the  old  timers  are  not  now  dealt 
with  or  looked  upon  as  kindly  as  they 
might  and  deserve  to  be. 

Here  is  a  summing  up  of  the  Frisco 
ordeal,  as  I  saw  it:  For  a  number  of 
years  a  majority  of  the  members  of  No. 
21,  without  consideration,  provision  or 
protection,  many  "moving  on"  for  places 
to  sleep,  often  not  knowing  where  the 
next  "eats"  were  coming  from,  with 
rarely  a  murmur  sustained  the  minority 
in  sits  that  paid  them  75  cents  at  piece 
work,  and  $30  weekly — enabling  piece 
men  to  draw  down  as  high  as  $50  weekly. 
With  one  "string"  a  frugal  sub  not  overly 
particular  could  buy  a  week's  feed  and 
room;  but  even  the  least  spleeny  finally 
wearied  of  being  handed  that  sort  of 
thing. 

Is  it  any  wonder  that  years  later, 
when  the  union  had  more  than  doubled 
its  membership  and  it  was  proposed  to 
reduce  the  price  of  composition  to  65 
cents,  upwards  of  two  'hundred  members 
failed  to  come  off  when  a  strike  was  or- 
dered. I  was  not  there,  but  assume  that 
among  the  "stayers"  were  many  of  my 
old  compatriots  who  roamed  the  streets 
or  did  menial  work.  They  had  had  a 
dose  for  an  adult,  and  to  walk  out  was  to 

104 


IN  THE   EAULY  SIXTIES 

come  back  for  more  —  to  again  stand  on 
basement  gratings  to  rest  their  italic 
heels. 

I  remember  a  pat  talk  made  at  one  of 
the  regular  meetings  that  was  prophetic 
and  seemed  to  have,  a  good  effect  in  eas- 
ing up  the  greed  of  some  of  the  thought- 
less —  anyway  a  spell  of  more  work  for 
the  unemployed  followed.  It  went  some- 
thing like  this  :  "I'm  no  longer  a  printer. 
I  wash  dishes  in  a  restaurant  for  $30  a 
month,  while  you  fellows  rake  off  $30  to 
$40  a  week  ;  but  presume  am  entitled  to 
a  seat  here  so  long  as  I  pay  my  dues.  I 
'have  a  soft  snap  compared  with  some,  of 
the  boys,  and  can  be  counted  on  ;  but  let 
me  warn  you  that  present  conditions  in 
the  trade  won't  be  stood  for  always.  An 
earthquake  may  yet  have  the  effect  to 
jar  loose  those  who  now  can't  afford  time 
even  to  attend  the  baby's  funeral." 


It  is  a  source  of  great  satisfaction  to 
me  to  recall  at  this  late  day  that  I  voted 
twice  for  Abraham  Lincoln  —  first  at  Ro- 
chester, N.  Y.  (my  maiden  vote),  and  in 
1864  at  the  Eleventh  ward  poll  in  San 
Francisco.  The  election  of  1864  on  the 
coast  was  practically  lined  up  for  union 
and  disunion  ;  and  the  feeling  was  intense. 

105 


HANDSET    REMINISCENCES 

There  were  many  secessionists  (South- 
erners) in  the  city,  and  they  all  hated 
"Old  Abe." 

An  English  printer  who  was  a  nat- 
uralized citizen  arrived  from  Victoria,  B. 
C,  where  he  had  been  for  several  months, 
a  day  too  late  to  entitle  him  to  vote. 
Being  a  rank  secession  sympathizer,  as 
many  Englishmen  were,  'he  was  much 
chagrined;  but  having  been  warned  by  a 
good  union  man  of  trouble  if  he  attempted 
to  use  the  franchise,  he  concluded  not  to 
try  it.  Now  it  also  happened  that  I  had 
just  come  from  the  territory  of  Nevada, 
but  had  timed  my  return  all  right.  Some 
one  told  him  we  had  arrived  the  same 
day — he  by  steamship  and  I  by  a  Sacra- 
mento river  boat.  We  were  chatting  in 
the  union  rooms  on  election  day  after- 
noon, when  I  arose,  remarking: 

"I  reckon  I'd  better  go  up  to  the  Elev- 
enth ward  and  vote." 

"You  vote!  I'll  be  there,  then,  and 
see  that  you  do  some  tall  swearing,  that'll 
get  you  into  trouble." 

"Don't  think  it,"  I  replied.  "The 
sentiment  is  all  one  way  in  Frisco.  You'd 
get  thrown  out  of  court  for  trying  to 
make  a  case,  against  any  one  voting  for 
President  Lincoln." 

That  made  him  hot,  and  when  one  of 
the  boys  asked  him  why  he  didn't  go  back 

106 


IN  THE   EAKLY  SIXTIES 

to  British  soil  if  this  government  was  so 
obnoxious,  he  wanted  to  fight. 

At  the  polling  place  I  had  to  stand  in 
line  half  an  hour.  When  my  turn  came 
a  voice  in  the  crowd  sang  out,  "I  chal- 
lenge that  vote  !"  I  had  to  do  the  swear- 
ing, all  right;  but  the  Englishman  con- 
cluded to  keep  quiet,  or  if  he  tried  to 
follow  the  matter  up  nothing  came  of  it. 


On  the  coast  a  large  per  cent  of  the 
population  had  drifted  in  from  the  South 
during  the  gold  excitement;  but  Uncle 
Sam  was  in  the  saddle,  and  Frisco  was 
true  blue.  The  city  contributed  liber- 
ally to  the  funds  of  the  sanitary  com- 
mission, and  would  have  sent  many  sol- 
diers but  for  transportation  cost,  which 
the  government  declined  to  pay  —  partly 
because  there  was  a  possibility  that  de- 
fense might  'be  needed  at  home.  It  is  no 
doubt  still  remembered  that  'but  one  com- 
pany —  called  the  "California  Hundred"  — 
went  from  the  coast  to  the  front  during 
the  four  years  of  war.  The  members  paid 
their  own  passage.  It  was  under  the  gal- 
lant soldier  and  brilliant  orator,  Colonel 
Ed.  Baker,  who  was  killed  at  Ball's  Bluff 
the  first  day  they  were  in  action;  and  of 
the  entire  company,  but  nine  lived  to  re- 
turn to  their  homes. 

107 


HANDSET   REMINISCENCES 

Several  companies  enlisted.  They 
were  sent  to  Arizona  and  the  plains  to 
watch  Indians,  wlho  during  the  war  were 
restless  and  inclined  to  be  troublesome. 
This  dampened  the  ardor  of  would-be 
volunteers.  There  was  no  glory  in  camp- 
ing on  the  desert,  suffering  from  heat, 
lack  of  water  and  grub,  perhaps  to  be 
picked  off  by  sneaking  Apaches. 

When  more  men  were  wanted  to  keep 
the  Indians  quiet  two  companies  were  en- 
listed with  difficulty — only  under  prom- 
ise that  they  would  be  sent  via  Panama  to 
the  front.  I  joined  one  of  them,  and  for 
a  fortnight  showed  up  every  night  at  the 
armory  for  drill,  becoming  so  proficient 
that  probably  I  could  to  this  day  handle 
a  musket  without  hurting  myself.  A 
printer  named  Valentine  Dresser,  who 
had  been  a  "paper-cap"  and  was  up  in  the 
arms  manual,  acted  as  drill  master  and 
was  chosen  lieutenant;  while  another 
printer  was  made  commissary  sergeant. 

One  night  after  drill  several  of  us 
went  to  the  Blue  Wing — noted  in  Frisco 
history — for  a  night  cap.  W'hile  talking 
with  me  Dresser,  whom  I  did  not  like, 
made  a  remark  that  got  under  my  skin 
and  I  resented  it  by  giving  him  a  shove. 
There  was  a  row  of  barrels  lined  up  in 
front  of  the  bar.  He  fell  over  one,  and 
laid  there  until  picked  up. 

108 


IN  THE   EAULY  SIXTIES 

That  was  the  nearest  I  ever  came  to 
'being  in  battle  as  a  soldier.  Dresser  was 
a  conceited,  vindictive  fellow,  and  as  lieu- 
tenant-elect was  already  beginning  to  feel 
his  oats.  Did  I  give  him  a  chance  as  an 
officer  to  get  on  to  my  neck  and  make  my 
life  a  burden?  Not  me.  When  next  day 
the  company  was  swprn  in  I  had  an  en- 
gagement elsewhere.  It  was  just  as  well, 
for  the  boys  were  soon  hustled  down  into 
the  Apache  country,  near  Tucson,  where 
for  several  years  their  main  pastime  and 
occupation  was  matching  graybacks  and 
cussing  the  overbearing  lieutenant. 
*  * 

A  few  doors  above  the  typographical 
rooms  on  Clay  street  the  De  Young  broth- 
ers— Mike  and  Charley,  then  aged  about 
19  and  17 — had  a  few  cases  of  old  type 
and  a  hand  press  and  were  printing  the 
"Theatre  Chronicle,"  which  afterwards 
became  the  present  daily  Chronicle. 
Even  in  their  teens  they  had  a  touch  of 
the  yellow;  newspaper  instinct,  as  the  fol- 
lowfing  incident  will  show: 

It  was  in  1864,  at  a  time  when  every 
pony  express  was  expected  to  bring  great 
news  from  the  front,  and  each  afternoon 
thousands  of  anxious  people  gathered  on 
Montgomery  street — then  the  principal 
thoroughfare — awaiting  the  appearance  of 

109 


HANDSET   REMINISCENCES 

the  Evening  Bulletin,  which  was  issued 
about  5  o'clock.  One  day  about  4:45  an 
extra  suddenly  appeared  at  a  dozen  places 
along  the  street.  It  contained  what  pur- 
ported to  be  a  pony  press  report,  under 
a  'half-column  scare  head  of  which  I  re- 
member the  first  two  lines: 

"Richmond  Taken !  Ben  Butler  Shot 
While  Riding  Through  the  Streets !" 

You  ought  to  have  seen  the  rush  for 
those  extras,  at  two  bits  each!  Crowds 
fairly  smothered  the  news'boys.  The  ex- 
citement lasted  ten  minutes,  and  then 
couriers  rode  furiously  through  the 
street  proclaiming  the  extra  a  fraud. 

Did  the  Die  Young  boys  act  as  "news- 
ies?" Dbn't  think  it.  They  were  in  an 
ally,  counting  their  gains.  The  excite- 
ment had  quieted  down  long  before  the 
"enterprise"  was  traced  to  them. 

When  the  daily  Chronicle  was  started 
by  the  DeYoungs  they  had  "the  instinct" 
to  turn  a  trick  that  soon  put  it  well  on  its 
feet  and  left  the  other  city  papers  to  hold 
the  bag.  All  fresh  eastern  news  was  re- 
ceived by  pony  express.  They  arranged 
with  the  riders  to  have  their  mail  deliv- 
ered at  any  point  on  the  road,  then  hired 
a  relay  of  fast  nags  to  meet  each  pony 
miles  out  of  the.  city.  The  Chronicle's  es- 
teemed contemporaries  at  length  awoke 
to  the  fact  that  all  important  news  was 
no 


IN  THE   EARLY  SIXTIES 

printed  and  on  the  street  an  hour  before 
the  old  dailies  received  their  mail. 


On  the  4th  of  July,  1861,  I  was  repre- 
senting cases  on  the  Herald.  It  being  a 
holiday  no  paper  was  to  be  issued;  but 
wearying  of  celebrating,  along  in  the  af- 
ternoon I  showed  up  to  throw  in  and  was 
sitting  at  case  with  a  juicy  handful  when 
the  rack  began  to  shake,  violently.  Be- 
ing very  old  it  was  about  ready  to  col- 
lapse, anyway.  Presuming  one  of  the 
boys  had  sneaked  in  and  was  trying  to  be 
funny,  I  said: 

"That'll  do,  now." 

Jdhn  Cremony,  the  editor,  was  at  work 
in  his  sanctum,  which  was  penned  off  from 
the  main  office.  Hearing  my  voice  he 
called  out: 

"What's  that  you,  say?" 

"Some  one  is  shaking  my  rack,"  I  re- 
plied. (It  was  still  rocking  furiously.) 

"That's  God!"  he  exclaimed;  "and 
young  feller,  we,  had  better  be  climbing 
out  of  here." 

Then  I  noticed  that  the  imposing 
stone  was  lunging  back  and  forth,  and 
when  the  looking  glass  and  clock  struck 
the  floor  and  the  office  towel  fell  over  on 
its  side,  I  got  wise.  An  earthquake  was 
on. 

111 


HANDSET   REMINISCENCES 

My  handful  struck  the,  stone  'bottom 
up  and  I  followed  Cremony  down  the 
stairs  "two  at  a  jump."  He  slipped, 
landed  on  his  stomach  and  served  as  a 
cushion  for  me.  A  thousand  people  'had 
reached  little  M'erchant  street  before  us, 
all  pale  as  death  and  trying1  to  keep  their 
feet.  The  bravest  of  men  lose  nerve 
when  the  ground  under  them  gets  flossy 
that  way.  Their  only  thought  is  that  it 
may  open  and  swallow  them. 

Speaking  of  swallowing,  reminds  me 
that  under  the  Herald  office  was  a  low- 
down  dive,  the  proprietor  of  which  was 
out  on  the  sidewalk  ringing  his  hands  and 
crying.  There  was  a  row  in  that  place 
regularly  every  night,  accompanied  by  a 
crashing  of  mirrors,  said  to  have  been 
precipitated  whenever  a  weak-stomached 
customer  was  handed  a  certain  brand  of 
whiskey.  With  the  first  swallow  he  went 
luny  and  threw  his  glass  at  the  barkeeper. 
Also,  it  was  said  that  decanters  used  for 
this  brand  were,  so  eaten  they  had  to  be 
replaced  with  new  ones  every  week.  It 
seemed  meet  that  this  man  should  be  the 
only  one  in  the  street  to  show  a  yellow 
streak  to  the  extent  of  shedding  tears, 
with  indications  of  flopping  down  to  pray. 

No  great  damage  was  done  to  prop- 
erty by  that  quake,  though  the  Bank  Ex- 
change and  government  building1  as  a 
112 


IN  THE   EARLY  SIXTIES 

result  of  it  showed  large  cracks  in  their 

walls. 

*     * 

Among  the  square  boys  of  the  early 
days  was  a  printer  named  Wolff,  who  put 
in  some  years  at  Sacramento  before 
showing  up  at  the  bay.  Quiet,  unassum- 
ing and  generous,  he  was  anything  but  a 
wolf  by  nature,  except  when  on  periodical 
sprees.  Then  it  was  booze  for  a  raven- 
ous maw  until  it  landed  him  in  the  gutter. 

One  morning  after  a  prolonged  "spell" 
and  a  twenty-four  hour's  fast  he  awoke 
duly  sober  and  powerful  hungry — of 
course,  broke.  In  desperation  he  went  to 
a  restaurant  where  he  was  a  stranger,  ate 
•heartily,  and  made  this  spiel  at  the 
counter : 

"Boss,  I've  just  had  a  'square  meal, 
but  am  broke.  Here  is  my  ticket,  and 
soon  as  I  get  busy  I'll  come  and  redeem 
it." 

The  cashier  glared  at  him. 

"There's  the  door,"  he  said.  "Get 
out.  If  you  show  up  here  again,  I'll 
throw  you  out." 

Wolff  was  humiliated;  but  after  fast- 
ing until  next  morning  he  gave  in  to  an 
unutterable  longing.  Thinking  he  might 
as  well  die  on  a  full  stomach  rie  went 
back  to  the  place,  ate  a  big  breakfast,  and 
said  to  the  cashier: 

113 


HANDSET   REMINISCENCES 

"Here  I  am  again,  you  see,  contrary 
to  orders.  Guess  you'll  have  to  throw 
me  out.  I  was  very  hungry,  and  just  had 
to  do  it." 

The  cashier  nearly  fell  off  of  his  stool. 
After  taking  a  good  look  at  his  customer, 
who  with  a  twinkle  in  his  eye  was  gazing 
steadfastly  at  him,  'he  said : 

"Well,  I'm  d d  if  I  ain't  stuck  on 

your  nerve.  Have  a  cigar.  Come  any 
time,  eat  all  you  want  of  the  best  there 
is,  and  I  won't  charge  you  a  cent." 

After  that  Wolff  was  one  of  the  res- 
taurant's best  customers. 

On  the  Christmas  day  following  there 
were  several  sports  in  the  union  rooms 
who  had  celebrated  the  night  before,  and 
were  minus  the.  price  of  a  sandwich,  let 
alone  a  'holiday  spread.  All  were  hungry 
and  all  talking  "eats." 

Dan  Donahue,  a  good  natured  soul, 
suddenly  thought  of  a  scheme,  but  was 
too  much  "befuddled"  to  work  out  the 
details. 

'Til  tell  you  what  let's  do,  boys,"  he 
said.  "Let's  go  down  to  the.  Cafe  du 
Rhone  and  try  that  gag  of  Wolff's. 
(Everybody  had  'heard  about  it.)  His 
nibs  can't  any  more'n  kill  us,  an'  I'll 
go  dead  if  I  don't  chew  pretty  soon." 

So  to  the  cafe  they  went.  All  had 
turkey,  wine  and  cigars.  Then  Dan,  as 

114 


IN  THE   EARLY  SIXTIES 

spokesman,  took  the  lead  to  the  counter. 
Standing  with  thumbs  in  vest,  he  grinned 
in  a  sickly  way  as  he  remarked  : 

"I  reckon  you'll  have  to  throw  us  out, 
for  ('hie)  there  isn't  a  short  bit  in  the 
crowd." 

The  proprietor,  a  big,  husky  French- 
man, rushed  from  behind  the  counter  in 
a  frenzy,  exclaiming: 

"By  gar,  I  am  ze  what  you  call  rooster 
zat  can  do  eet!"  and  after  striking  right 
and  left  took  two  beats  nearest  him  by 
the  shoulders  and  s'hoved  the  bunch  well 
into  the  street. 

Poor  Dan  came  off  with  a  black  eye, 
then  had  the  nerve  to  go  back  and  ask 
for  a  beafsteak  to  put  on  it.  What  was 
more,  he  not  only  got  it,  'but  afterwards 
paid  the  whole  bill  and  stood  in  with  the 
proprietor  ever  after. 


Probably  few  of  my  readers  ever  heard 
of  Harry  Courtaine,  fifty  years  ago  one 
of  the  most  popular  actors  on  the  coast, 
or  anywhere  else.  Harry  was  educated 
in  Dublin  for  a  priest,  but  had  a  pre- 
diliction  for  the  stage,  and  shedding  his 
robes  took  to  it  like  a  duck  to  water.  His 
versatility  was  amazing.  I  must  relate 
an  instance  of  it  that  came  under  my  ob- 
servation. 

115 


HANDSET   REMINISCENCES 

When  sober  Harry  was  the  dandy  of 
Montgomery  street.  Quite  tall,  hand- 
somely 'built  and  graceful,  he  always 
topped  out  his  heavy  broadcloth  swallow- 
tail and  other  glad  togs  with  a  new  silk 
tile,  waxed  his  big  flaxen  mustache  to 
point  due  east  and  west,  and  there  was 
never  a  speck  on  his  shining  patent  leath- 
ers. When  he  passed  by  everybody 
turned  to  admire. 

On  the  other  hand,  he  was  as  strictly 
methodical  in  regard  to  his  drunks.  They 
were  due  about  every  six  weeks,  rain  or 
shine,  and  lasted  two;  for  he  was  such  a 
lusher  that  if  continued  longer,  snakes 
would  climb  the  'bedposts.  When  it  was 
his  time  to  "fall"  he  would  deliberately 
saunter  into  a  saloon  and  take  a  big  jolt, 
all  by  'his  lonesome.  Then  he  went 
straight  to  'his  room,  dusted  and  laid 
away  his  fine  rig  and  got  into  his  poor- 
est— throwing  engagements  without  no- 
tice, no  matter  'how  important.  In  engag- 
ing him  the  managers  had  to  take 
chances. 

Harry  would  accept  a  treat,  but  never 
stand  for  one,  so  he  always  had  money. 
On  a  spree  lhe  never  spoke  to  anybody  un- 
less spoken  to.  When  he.  had  pressed  the 
two  weeks'  limit  he  was  usually  picked 
out  of  the  gutter,  taken  to  his  room  and 
attended  by  a  physician. 

116 


IN  THE   EAIRLY  SIXTIES 

One  night  about  midnight,  after  work- 
ing on  the  Alta,  I  was  wending  my  way 
home  when  on  turning  into  Kearn^ 
street  a  man  naked  as  Adam  minus  the 
fig  leaves  came  rushing  toward  me, 
shrieking,  "For  God's  sake,  don't  let  them 
get  me !"  It  was  poor  Harry,  who  had 
eluded  a  nurse  and — the  snakes. 

Mark  what  followed.  On  the  next 
Saturday  night  I  attended  a  minstrel  show 
at  Gilbert's  melodeon,  and  there,  as  a 
temporary  end  man,  was  Harry  Court- 
aine.  He  was  in  one  of  his  funniest 
moods,  and  was  wiildly  cheered — I  reckon 
partly  because  most  of  the  audience  had 
heard  of  his  late  free  street  show. 

Monday  night  I  went  to  the  Metro- 
politan theatre,  where  McKean  Buchanan, 
a  celebrated  actor,  was  to  appear  as 
"Mjadbeth."  Would  you  believe  it — just 
before  curtain  call  the  manager  appeared 
and  announced  that  as  Mr.  Buchanan  had 
been  taken  suddenly  ill,  the  great  and 
popular  tragedian,  Harry  Courtaine,  had 
kindly  volunteered  to  assume  his  part! 
He  went  through  it  without  a  hitch ;  and 
it  was  a  fine  and  finished  piece  of  acting. 

Next  morning  the  Metropolitan  bills 
announced  that  the  Bianchi  troupe  (a  re- 
cent arrival  from  Australia,  and  stranded) 
would  present  the  comic  opera  of  "The 

117 


HANDSET   REMINISCENCES 

Barber  of  Seville,"  in  which  Harry  Court- 
aine  would  appear  as  the  festive  barber. 
Everybody  wanted  to  see  him  in  opera, 
as  it  was  a  new  stunt  for  him  in  San 
Francisco,  and  the  house  was  packed. 
The  part  was  faultlessly  rendered,  though 
having  a  rather  weak  voice  Harry  could 
act  'better  than  he  could  sing. 

His  great  role  was  the  lead  in  "The 
Rivals,"  a  very  popular  comedy  of  the 
time.  It  was  a  part  that  no  actor  wanted, 
after  him.  On  the  Saturday  night  of  that 
very  week,  at  the  Metropolitan,  a  "grand 
benefit"  was  tendered  Harry — "The 
Rivals"  headlining  the  'bill.  I  was  not 
present,  but  remember  the  press  spoke 
of  the  performance  as  Mr.  Courtaine's 
greatest  artistic  and  financial  success 
since  his  arrival  in  the  city. 

I  have  mentioned  this  instance  of  ver- 
satility believing  there  is  no  record  of  its 
having  ever  been  equalled.  Think  of  it 
— sure  enough  jimjams,  minstrel,  high 
tragedian,  comic  opera  singer  and  com- 
edian, all  within  ten  days,  and  all  star 
stunts ! 

Only  a  few  years  ago  I  saw  an  item 
in  a  New  York  daily  telling  of  a  case  in 
a  local  police  court.  In  the  "catch"  was 
a  tall,  unkempt,  ragged,  gray-haired  man, 
with  dull  eyes  and  swollen  face.  When 

118 


IN  THE   EARLY  SIXTIES 

his  name  was  called  he  answered  with  a 
feeble,  trembling  voice.  The  judge  in  a 
tone  of  compassion  said  he  was  grieved 
to  see  the  prisoner  in  so  humiliating  a 
condition.  "Since,  your  only  crime  is 
against  yourself,"  he  said,  "I'  will  not  im- 
pose a  penalty  on  you,  who  'have  so  often 
contributed  to  my  entertainment  and 
pleasure;  and  I  have  no  doubt.  that  for 
the  same  reason  there  is  kindly  sympathy 
for  you  in  the  breasts  of  all  within  the 
sound  of  my,  voice.  Your  hair  is  whiten- 
ing, Harry,  and  the  night  is  coming  on. 
Try  to  control  yourself  in  future.  Do 
'better,  and  I  will  be  glad  to  help  you  in 
every  way  I  can.  You  may  go." 

It  was  dear  old  Harry  Courtaine  —  the 
last  I  ever  heard  of  him. 


"Backward,    turn    backward,    O    time    in   your 

flight, 
Make  me  (Slug  5)  again,  just  for  tonight." 

D.uring  the  presidential  campaign  in 
1864  I  was  holding  cases  on  the  Ameri- 
can Flag  —  Henry  George  being  also  one 
of  the  compositors. 

The  only  excuse  for  the  Flag  ever  hav- 
ing been  unfurled  was  its  advocacy  of 
Lincoln  and  the  union  cause.  It  was 
pulled  down  directly  after  the  election. 

119 


HANDSET   REMINISCENCES 

After  that  I  rarely  saw  Mr.  George, 
and  now  remember  little  of  him.  In  his 
young  manhood,  as  I  recall  him,  he  was 
quiet  and  unassertive.  Though  differing 
from  most  of  his  fellow  workmen  by  de- 
voting his  leisure  hours  to  reading  and 
study,  there  was  nothing  in  his  person- 
ality to  forecast  the  great  labor  advo- 
cate and  philosopher  he  became.  My  im- 
pression was  that  he  'burned  the,  mid- 
night oil  a  good  deal,  instead  of  having 
saloons  and  amusement  places  burn  oil 
for  him.  But  for  a  joke  he  perpetrated « 
on  me,  I  might  have  forgotten  that  we 
once  pounded  type  together. 

When  the  Flag  ceased  to  wave  I  went 
to  sub  on  the  Morning  Call.  One  day  I 
was  working  for  George  Bloor — "Slug 
5."  I  am  particular  to  mention  Bloor,  for 
he  was  not  only  a  grand  good  fellow,  who 
would  never  stand  by  and  see  a  goose 
egg  handed  me,  or  others,  but  the  proud 
father  of  "Jimmy,"  the  office  cub,  who 
afterwards  was  an  editor  of  note  in  Salt 
Lake,  Kansas  City  and  eastern  cities,  and 
is  now,  I  believe,  writing  in  Los  Angeles. 

On  this  particular  morning  I  was  the 
first  to  show  up,  had  lifted  a  handful  and 
was  sitting  at  case  all  by  my  lonesome, 
singing  "Rock  Me  to  Sleep,  Mother" — a 
great  favorite  of  the  time.  When  the 

120 


IN  THE   EARLY  SIXTIES 

verse  ended  Henry  George  was  standing 
in  the  door. 

"Huh !"  he  exclaimed,  "wouldn't  you 
be  a  sw:eet  'babe  for  a  fond  mother  to 
rock  to  sleep !" 

I  can  never  forget  how  merrily  he 
said  it,  or  the  suggestion  following: 

"I  heard  you  from  the  street,  and 
came  up  two  flights  just  to  see  who  in 
the  Call  office  can  make  a  noise  like  that. 
Why,  young,  fellow,  you  are  wasting 
time.  If  I  had  your  voice  I  wouldn't  ruin 
my  lungs  setting  type  under  hot  gas 
lights,  but  overcome  every  obstacle  in 
the  way  of  making  music  my  calling." 

Why  did  I,  as  countless  others  have 
done,  thoughtlessly  neglect  this  one  tal- 
ent that  nature  gave  me?  You  tell.  Ap- 
pearing as  a  fill-up  in  an  opera  chorus, 
and  now  and  then  volunteering  a  song 
on  a  benefit  night,  satisfied  my  ambition 
in  that  direction.  To  be  able  to  give  the 
odds  of  thirty  caroms  or  no  count  in  the 
"gentleman's  game,"  with  a  big  crowd 
looking  on,  was  to  me  of  more  import- 
ance, or  at  least  more  satisfying,  in  those 
days,  than  being  a  Karl  Formes. 
4  4 

Except  in  the  first  of  these  sketches 
all  of  the  old  trails  retraced  inevitably 
lead  to  or  from  the  printshop  and  affairs 

121 


HANDSET   REMINISCENCES 

directly  or  indirectly  connected  with  it, 
of  which  I  wias  cognizant  or  in  which  I 
took  a  more  or  less  active  part. 

I  could  write  a  book  about  San  Fran- 
cisco, its  wonderful  transformation,  its 
interesting  features  and  odd  characters 
during  the  years  I  was  there — of  its  hav- 
ing on  my  arrival  a  population  number- 
ing but  forty  odd  thousand ;  of  its  social 
status,  around  which  still  lingered  the 
spell  put  upon  it  by  the.  vigilantes  of 
1853 — a  large  part  of  the  people  unset- 
tled, eating  in  restaurants  and  having 
their  homes  in  rented  rooms  or  tene- 
ments; of  the  city's  growth,  strikingly 
noticeable  from  Montgomery  street  (then 
the  main  thoroughfare)  with  its  upper 
side  west  of  California  street  a  waste  of 
sand  hills,  in  two  years  built  up  along 
that  section  with  solid  brown  stone  and 
marble  fronted  blocks;  of  Market  street, 
with  not  a  structure  worthy  of  notice, 
practically  unused  except  as  the  terminal 
of  a  stub  railroad,  that  daily  ran  a  dinky 
engine  and  car  combined  to  the  old 
San  Franciscan  mission — a  tumble  down 
attraction  for  sightseers;  of  a  weath- 
er-beaten shack,  used  as  a  carpenter 
shop  by  day  and  by  night  as  a 
rehearsing  place  for  amateur  theat- 
ricals, occupying  the  site  of  the  present 
Palace  hotel ;  of  the  great  cliff  resort  by 
122 


IN  THE   EARLY  SIXTIES 

the  Golden  Gate,  then  in  its  primitive 
state  and  reached  only  by  vessel  or  a 
horseback  ride  through  miles  and  miles  of 
sand  hills;  of  Charley  Backus,  Frank 
Mayo,  Charles  Thorne,  Jr.,  Joe  Murphy, 
Little  Lotta  and  other  stage  celebrities, 
then  just  learning  their  entrances  and 
exits;  of  Kearny  street,  a  mere  alley,  be- 
ing widened  and  succeeding  Montgom- 
ery as  the  main  thoroughfare;  of  the 
city's  front,  built  on  piles  from  Front 
street  half  a  mile  out  to  the  great  piers 
and  the  present  sea  wall,  with  water  sev- 
eral feet  deep  when  the  tide  was  in  un- 
der buildings,  planked  walks  and  streets ; 
of  the  historic  old  postoffice,  where  we 
used  to  form  lines  'blocks  in  length  on 
steamer  days,  waiting  for  our  mail ;  of 
the  tenderloin  district  and  Chinatown, 
then  noticeable  features  but  widely  dif- 
fering from  what  they  are  today ;  of  buy- 
ing for  a  week's  wage  twlo  city  lots  on 
one  of  the  city's  seven  hills,  on  which 
fortunes  have  since  been  spent  in  grad- 
ing them  down  to  the  present  level,  and 
which  with  their  improvements  are  now 
worth  millions ;  of  the  "twa  dogs,"  Bum- 
mer and  Lazarus,  that  I  often  fed,  and 
could  tell  stories  about  yet  untold;  of 
Emperor  Norton  I,  czar  of  all  the  Rus- 
sias,  who  always  gave  me.  a  dignified 
greeting:,  and  made  me  his  special  mes- 

123 


HANDSET   REMINISCENCES 

senger  for  more  than  one  ukase  that 
was  published  in  the  morning-  papers; 
of  that  other  mild,  methodical  lunatic, 
the  "Free  Ditcher,"  whom  the  "Emp" 
held  in  contempt  'because  of  his  silk  ban- 
ner and  glad  Continental  togs,  while  his 
ma'jesty  wore  gray,  often  frayed  at  the 
'heels — these  two  as  they  passed  by 
glaring  at  each  other  with  an  abiding 
hatred  born  of  professional  jealousy;  of 
Oakland,  then  mostly  acreage  property, 
marked  here  and  there  by  a  tumble  down 
building — less  important  then  than  num- 
bers of  the  villages  now  reached  by  the 
interurban  line  between  Oakland  and  San 
Jose;  of  the  Sacramento  river  steamers 
and  their  immense  passenger  and  freight 
traffic  of  many  years ;  of  the  slackened 
pour  of  gold  dust  from  ancient  river  bed 
and  gulch  and  bar. 

Near  early  San  Francisco,  with  its  en- 
vironments, is  impressed  upon  my  mem- 
ory m!ore  vividly  than  any  of  the  other 
cities  in  which  I  spent  my  type-setting 
days ;  but  with  this  mere  reference,  to  a 
few  of  its  salient  features  I  must  pass  on. 


124 


The  First  Silver  Boom. 

The  journey  from  Sacramento  to  Vir- 
ginia City  when  stage  lines  were  estab- 
lished, occupying  about  two  days,  was 
not  an  altogether  delightful  experience, 
albeit  en  route  were  scenic  effects  and 
thrills  calculated  to  satisfy  any  reason- 
able tourist. 

Early  in  the  Washoe  silver  excite- 
ment, on  in  1861,  the  trip  was  made  by 
thousands  of  fortune  hunters  on  bron- 
chos, mules  and  burros,  and  on  foot. 
Those  who  tramped  in  the  winter  sea- 
son, packing  blankets  and  grub,  suffered 
great  hardships.  Many  were  the  rude 
tablets  along  the  old  trail  marking  the 
last  resting  places  of  the  weak  who  fell 
by  the  way. 

By  the  spring  of  1863  a  forty-mile 
section  of  the  Central  Pacific  railroad  had 
been  constructed  east  from  Sacramento, 
landing  passengers  at  Auburn — then  a 
booming  terminal.  This  I  believe  was 
the  first  bit  of  railroad  to  be.  built  west 
of  the  Missouri  river;  though  several 
miles  of  track  between  Frisco  and  the  old 
San  Francisco  mission  was  laid  earlier, 
and  operated  with  an  engine  and  car  com- 
bined that  carried  passengers. 

125 


HANDSET   REMINISCENCES 

Before  reaching  the  foothills  from  Au- 
burn there  was  a  stretch  of  valley  road 
where  frequent  floods  had  deposited  silt 
to  a  depth  of  four  to  six  inches,  so  fine 
and  light  that  with  scarcely  a  breath  of 
air  stirring  it  rolled  up  in  dense  clouds, 
so  that  weak-lunged  wayfarers  only 
saved  themselves  from  suffocation  by 
masking  their  noses.  On  my  first  trip 
I  was  so  fortunate  as  to  secure  the  seat 
beside  the  driver,  above  the  real  smoth- 
ering zone ;  but  even  so,  when  we  arrived 
at  the  first  change  station  there  was  a 
deposit  half-an-inch  deep  on  the  rim  of 
my  hat.  It  was  this  silt  "that  gave  the 
Sacramento  valley  perhaps  the  richest 
soil  in  the  world  for  agricultural  pur- 
poses ;  and  more  wealth  has  'been  reaped 
from  its  fertile  acres  than  ever  came  in 
gold  from  the  overhanging  mountains. 

"Ike,"  our  driver,  was  a  joker  in  his 
way,  albeit  some  of  the  "insides"  were 
prone,  to  think  it  a  mean,  underhanded 
way.  When  the  monotony  of  a  steady 
pull  had  lulled  them  into  a  doze,  we  came 
to  a  little  gully  where  a  shower  brook 
had  crossed  the  road.  When  approaching 
it,  remarking  it  was  "about  time  for  them 
ducks  down/  thar  to  wake,  up,"  and  warn- 
ing me  to  hang  on,  Ike  unloosed  his  whip 
and  hit  a  fly  on  the  off  leaders'  ear.  The 
team  jumped,  and  as  the  wheels  hit  the 

126 


THE    FIRST    SILVER    BOOM 

depression  half  a  dozen  heads  played  tat- 
too on  the,  roof,  while  a  streak  of  oaths 
issued  from  the  windows  that  seemed 
like  a  blue  rainbow  on  the  dusty  air. 

Then  that  hard-hearted  wretch  went 
into  a  silent  convulsion  that  shook  the 
seat,  and  murmured : 

"G-e-e-zus !    but    didn't    that    thar    jar 
'em  loose !" 

That  was  positively  the  most  unique 
swearword  ever  uttered.  Ike  didn't  seem 
to  use  it  in  a  profane  sense  any  more 
than  Mr.  Corntossle  swears  when  he  says 
"dum  it."  In  fact,  I  don't  remember  to 
have  heard  Ike  utter  a  real  oath.  He 
made  use  of  this  substitute  on  all  occa- 
sions, as  a  creation  of  his  own,  with 
slightly  varying  emphasis  expressing  sur- 
prise, pain,  irritation,  appreciation  or 
contempt.  With  a  deep  bass  voice  he 
gave  a  falling  inflection  to  both  syllables 
— the  first  landing  somewhere  under  his 
vest,  the  last  with  a  sudden  thud  in  his 
throat. 

Long  subsequent  to  this  trip  I  was 
one  day  standing  by  the,  desk  of  the  man- 
ager of  a  furniture  establishment  at 
Lapeer,  Mich.,  where  I  published  a  small 
paper.  A  clerk  was  waiting  on  a  cus- 
tomer at  one  of  the  counters. 

"G-e-e-zus!"    exclaimed    the    customer. 
Whereat  the  manager  laughed. 

127 


HANDSET   REMINISCENCES 

"That  was  odd,"  I  said.  "It  must  be 
ten  years  since  I  last  saw  the  man  who 
uttered  that  word,  if  ever;  but  I'll  wager 
a  box  of  Havanas  I  know  him." 

"Done,"  said  the.  manager.  "Mr. 
Temple,  please  step  here  a  moment.  I 
want  to  introduce  you  to  this  gentleman." 

As  Mr.  Temple  approached  I  turned 
my  face  toward  him. 

"G-e-e.-zus !"  he  exclaimed,  seizing 
my  hand.  "I  don't  need  no  introduction 
to  this  galoot.  What  on  earth  are  you 
doing  in  this  God  forsaken  land  of  turnips 
and  ruta  bagas?  You're  about  the  last 
person  I  ever  expected  to  meet  this  side 
of  the  Rockies." 

It  transpired  that  Ike  Temple,  after 
many  years  of  western  life,  was  visiting 
a  sister  whom  he  had  not  seen  since  she 
was  a  child,  and  by  way  of  celebrating 
their  reunion  was  about  to  present  her 
with  a  set  of  furniture.  He  had  just 
made  himself  known  to  the  manager,  who 
with  no  idea  that  I  ever  lived  in  the  far 
west  thought  he  had  some  dead  easy 
cigars  coming. 

At  one  of  the  change  stations,  reached 
at  daybreak,  was  a  saloon — an  inevitable 
feature  in  the  mountains  wherever  were 
gathered  together  half-a-dozen  shacks  or 
tents.  On  a  bench  in  front  sat  an  Indian 

128 


THE    FIRST    SILVER    BOOM 

who  might  have  been  Shacknasty  Jack,  a 
chief  of  the  Modoc  tribe,  later  noted  as 
a  desperate  fighter  in  what  was  known 
as  the  lava  bed  war.  He  was  a  strictly 
hideous-looking  creature,  togged  mostly 
in  scars,  war  paint  and  feathers  and  heav- 
ily armed,  with  a  rifle,  resting  across  his 
knees,  and  was  sitting  bolt  upright  on 
the  edge  of  the  seat  as  if  about  to  flass 
and  go  off.  His  gaze  was  fixed  on  the 
eastern  horizon,  and  as  the  stage  came 
up  he  did  not  bat  an  eye.  A  tobacco  sign 
might  have  swayed  in  the  breeze  that 
was  blowing,  but  he  did  not. 

The  respite  from  the  long  night  ride 
and  pure  'bracing  air  stimulated  me,  and 
striking  an  attitude  in  front  of  the  noble 
red  man  I  pointed  to  the  east  and'  sang  a 
couple  of  lines  from  "Masaniello : 

"Behold,  how  brightly  breaks  the  morning, 
The  sun  is  shining  o'er  the  eastern  hills." 

S'till  not  a  muscle  stirred;  but  when 
I  said,  "Pardner,  come  and  have  a  drink," 
he  grunted,  sprang  to  his  feet  like  some- 
thing had  stung  him,  and  stalked  to  the 
bar  without  giving  me  a  glance.  When 
the  scars  and  paint  darkened  the  door 
the  barkeeper  was  busily  waiting  on  some 
passengers ;  but  he  dropped  them,  filled 
a  glass  to  the  brim  with  snake  juice  and 

129 


HANDSET   REMINISCENCES 

set  it  before  the  chief,  who  downed  it 
without  a  gasp.  With  another  grunt 
Jack  stalked  back  to  his  perch.  •  When 
we  came  out  he  had  again  become  a 
wooden  image,  with  a  far-away  gaze. 

Later  on  this  chief  made  a  heap  of 
trouble  for  Uncle  Sam  before  cold  lead 
persuaded  him  to  become  a  "good  In- 
dian." The  barkeeper  seemed  to  feel 
that  he  had  good  and  sufficient  reason 
for  being  mighty  polite  to  him. 

We  spent  an  hour  at  an  eating  sta- 
tion; which  gave  me  time  to  look  around. 
Nothing  worth  mentioning  was  in  sight, 
except  at.  the,  rude  hotel — kept  by  a  '49er 
— was  a  six-pocket  'billiard  table  which,  I 
being  a  scrub  player,  attracted  my  cur- 
iosity. It  was  actually  9  feet  long  by  7 
feet  wide.  It  had  a  wooden  bed,  balls 
that  had  'been  "thrice  turned,"  and  small 
gunny  sacks  for  pockets.  Looking 
across  its  broad  expanse,  one  could  fig- 
ure that  having  made  a  round-the-table 
shot  he  would  have  time  to  sit  down 
and  read  a  paper  while  his  cue  ball  was 
coming  back.  A  sound  as  of  distant 
thunder  reverberated  as  the  ivories  rolled 
over  the  wooden  bed.  One  board  was 
warped  by  having  stood  under  a  leaky 
roof,  so  that  the  relic  was  now  in  disuse 

ISO 


THE    FIRST    SILVER    BOOM 

— crippled  as  well  as  outlawed  by  limit- 
ation. The  proprietor,  a  bleary-eyed, 
palsied  old  man,  explained  that  in  'by- 
gone days  the  table  was  used  principally 
for  playing  "rondo,"  a  Mexican  game  at 
that  time  popular  in  the  diggings,  in 
which  many  thousands  of  dollars  changed 
hands.  He  had  seen  as  high  as  a  thou- 
sand dollars  in  gold  dust  bet  on  a  single 
roll.  The  game  wtas  played  with  eight 
balls,  the  size  of  pigeon's  eggs.  They 
were  shoved  with  the  hands,  diagonally 
across  the  table.  If  an  even  number,  or 
all,  fell  into  the  corner  pocket  the  player 
made  a  "rondo,"  and  won.  If  the  num- 
ber left  on  the  table,  was  odd,  he  made  a 
"coolo,"  and  lost. 

Rondo  had  disappeared  before  my 
time,  but  there  was  another  simple  odd 
and  even  game,  called  "props,"  that  in 
the  early  sixties  caught  the  boys  for 
their  loose  change  and  made  coupon  cut- 
ters of  percentage  sharks.  It  was  played 
with  four  elongated  white  sea  shells,  one 
side  of  each  having  been  removed  and 
replaced  with  sealing  wax.  The  playen 
put  up  say  four  bits,  which  was  taken  by 
other  players,  and  threw  the  shells  on  a 
green  'baise-covered  table.  If  two  or  four 
came  red  side  up  he  made  a  "nick,"  and 
won.  If  but  one  red  or  one  white  showed, 
it  was  an  "out"  and  he  lost.  When  he 

131 


HANDSET   REMINISCENCES 

had  thrown  two  nicks  and  doubled  his 
money  twice,  he  usually  took  down  $1.25, 
left  up  a  four-bit  stake,  and  the  dealer 
put  two  bits  in  his  till.  It  took  about 
two  minutes  to  set  the  game  and  throw 
twice,  so  the  dealer's  rakeoff  was  $6  to 
$8  an  hour;  though  when  the  playing 
was  lively  for  larger  stakes  he  would 
steal  as  much  more.  This  game  was 
played  "wide  open"  in  all  second-class 
saloons,  and  became  such  a  craze  among 
wage  earners  in  Frisco  the  authorities  in- 
terfered and  suppressed  it. 

This  was  the  Henness  Pass  route. 
There  was  another,  perhaps  more  pop- 
ular, called  the  Placerville  route,  but  the 
Henness  Pass  was  not  excelled  for  scen- 
ery and  thrilling  features.  A  real  blood- 
curdler  was  called  the  "eleven-mile 
grade,"  which  in  that  distance  dropped 
several  thousand  feet  from  the  summit 
of  the  Sierras  west  into  the  valley  in 
which  beautiful  Webber  lake  is  situated. 
The  summit  was  reached  from  the  east 
by  a  toilsome,  rocky  climb,  made  by  most 
passengers  on  foot  to  lighten  the  coach. 
The  long  grade  was  a  narrow  shelf,  hewn 
all  the  way  in  solid  rock.  It  was  smooth 
as  a  floor,  but  not  wide  enough  for  teams 
to  pass  safely.  At  frequent  intervals 
were  excavations  in  the  side  of  the  moun- 

132 


THE    FIRST    SILVER    BOOM 

tain,  into  which  freighters  could  drive 
and  clear  the  track  for  coaches,  which 
had  the  right  of  way.  It  was  the  rule 
for  coach  drivers  to  make  up  on  the 
down  grade  for  time  lost  in  approaching 
it  and  the  horses  were  given  their  heads 
at  full  gallop — their  clattering  and  the 
rumbling  coaches  making  a  racket  that 
could  be  heard  half-a-mile,  warning  ap- 
proaching and  slower  jehus  to  "turn  in." 

At  the  'beginning  of  this  descent  the 
scenery  was  grand,  from  a  safe  view- 
point, but  lost  to  the  awe-stricken  gaze 
of  most  pilgrims,  they  having  something 
to  think  about  more  nearly  concerning 
their  immediate  personal  prospects.  The 
outer  margin  of  the  roadway  was  not  so 
wide  but  that  they  could  see  a  precipice 
directly  below  them  with  an  almost  per- 
pendicular wall,  so  deep  that  pine  trees 
at  the  bottom  seemed  not  mfuch  larger 
than  sagebrush. 

At  the  sum,mit  I  became  an  insider 
temporarily,  giving  up  my  perch  to  a 
weak-hearted  pilgrim  short  of  breath. 
Beside  me  inside,  was  a  former  driver  on 
the  route,  wiho  had  t>een  fired  for  some 
cause.  He  was  very  bitter,  and  to  in- 
jure the  company  was  losing  no  chance 
to  say  nerve-racking  things.  So  narrow 
a  margin  of  road,  the.  awful  precipice  anc| 
the  apparently  reckless  speed  we  were 

133 


HANDSET   REMINISCENCES 

making  caused  a  creepy  sensation  to 
cavoort  up  and  down  my  spine,  no  doubt 
shared  by  all.  I  asked  the  fellow  if  he 
had  ever  had  an  accident  on  the  grade. 

"Dozens  on  'em,"  he  replied.  "See 
how  that  thar  right  leg  of  mine  is  braced, 
and  a  holdin'  on?  That  comes  of  habit, 
just.  I  allus  braced  myself  thataway 
soon  as  I  hit  the  down  haul,  ready  to 
jump  in  case  a  wheel  run  off  or  the  lead- 
ers began  to  get  flossy.  Them  hosses 
get  skeered,  all  same  as  a  tenderfoot,  and 
sometimjes  go  bughouse  and  jump  over 
the  side.  Then  I'd  jest  -nach'lly  jump 
t'other  way,  hear  me.  Soon  as  I'd  looked 
over  and  seen  that  the  layout  was  on  its 
way,  it  was  for  me  to  hoof  it  down  to 
the.  next  station,  get  picked  up  and  taken 
to  headquarters  an'  put  aboard  a  new 
outfit." 

"Were  no  steps  taken  to  rescue  the 
passengers?" 

"You  mean  to  go  where  they  lit? 
Whar's  the  use?  You  don't  reckon  thar 
was  anybody  a  hollerin'  fer  help  after 
fallin'  a  mile,  do  ye?" 

"No;  but  the  company  at  least  ought 
to  have  taken  steps  to  recover  the  bodies, 
and  see  that  they  were  decently  in- 
terred." 

"Oh,  I  don'  know.  There's  only  a 
bad  trail  at  the  bottom  of  the  canyon, 

134 


THE    FIRST    SILVER    BOOM 

with  boulders  a  rollin'  down  like  they're 
shot  out  of  a  gun  and  liable  to  smash 
you.  Anyway,  it  would  take  a  couple 
of  days  for  a  rescue  party  to  git  thar,  an' 
what  'ud  the  coyotes  an'  buzzards  an' 
crows  be  doin'  all  that  time.  I  hear 
roughnecks  who  don't  mind  pickin'  dead 
men's  pockets  have  made  a  big  thing 
down  thar,  but  I  wouldn't  want  none  of 
it  in  mine." 

Next  to  this  veracious  jehu  on  the 
danger  side,  with  bulging  eyes  glued  to 
the  window,  was  a  thin-faced,  middle- 
aged  man  in  a  frayed  black  suit,  crumpled 
silk  hat  and  a  dirty  white  cravat,  who 
for  all  I  know  might  have  been  a  tract 
dispenser.  I  couldn't  see  his  face,  but 
imagine  all  the  horror  not  depicted  in 
the  faces  of  the  other  passengers  was 
concentrated  in  his.  He  was  neither 
seated  nor  standing — about  half  cocked 
as  you  might  say — so  that  his  lean  figure 
swayed  to  and  fro  and  rose  and  fell  with 
the  motion  of  the  coach.  Clutched  in  his 
hands  were  an  old  satchel  and  an  um- 
brella, as  if  he  might  'be  loaded  to  go 
off  suddenly. 

When  the  ex-jehu  ceased  talking  he 
took  a  bite  from  a  pocket  flask  that  must 
have  had  a  depressing  effect,  for  with 
tears  in  his  voice  he  soon  began  singing 
a  doleful  croon  that  had  probably  been 

135 


HANDSET    REMINISCENCES 

"thought  out"  by  a  disgruntled  stage 
driver.  I  recall  the  first  of  about  twenty- 
one  verses: 

'Just  listen,  me  boys,  and  I'll  sidng  ye  a  sogng — 
A  tadle  (tale)  of  the  road  that's  not  very 

logng — 

Tis  about  a  fine  lad  who  drove  very  wedll, 
But  hung  to  his  ribbons  and  landed  in  hedll." 

It  told  of  a  loving  old  mother,  who 
knitted  Jack's  socks  and  mended  his 
clothes,  and  died  heart-broken  when  she 
heard  of  his  awful  fate;  also,  of  a  "nice 
yougng  girdl"  soon  to  have  been  his 
bride,  who  went  to  the  dizzy  brink,  and 
when  she  "see  where  Jack  had  godne," 
shrieked  fearful  and  went  tumbling  after. 

Before  this  horror  was  ended  the 
tract  dispenser  collapsed,  dropped  his  be- 
longings, and  with  chin  on  breast  main- 
tained a  limp  heap  until  we  halted  at 
the  next  station.  I  did  not  notice  until 
then  that  his  hair  was  streaked  with 
white. 

4     4 

If  you  were  a  poor  devil  of  a  type- 
sticker — a  Johnny-come-lately  in  one  of 
the  strangest  of  strange  places — and  you 
had  just  got  in  a  night  at  $1  per  thou- 
sand, and  on  the,  way  to  your  room,  on 
the  main  street,  at  considerable  intervals 
you  should  stumble  over  three  horrid 

136 


THE    FIRST    SILVER    BOOM 

cadavers,  and  the  cheerful  information 
had  been  imparted  to  you  that  you  might 
expect  a  similar  experience  on  the  fol- 
lowing night,  and  every  other  night,  and 
that  if  a  policeman  were  standing  in  a 
doorway  close  by  he  would  merely  shrug 
his  shoulders  when  the  several  impedi- 
ments turned  up  their  toes,  and  in  the 
morning  would  order  a  cart  and  have 
the  remains,  boots  and  all,  dumped  into 
a  trench  in  the  outskirts,  thus  closing 
the  incidents;  and  that  the  policemen  of 
the  place  were  all  instructed  to  not,  un- 
der certain  conditions,  interfere  with  any 
amount  of  shooting,  cutting,  clubbing,  or 
any  other  process  of  cadaver-making  that 
might  happen  on  the  main  street  or  any 
other  street,  would  you  have  the  nerve 
to  continue  on  to  your  domicile,  partake 
of  a  refreshing,  dreamless  sleep,  and  next 
day  return  to  the  office  to  get  in  "another 
one,"  or  would  you  watch  for  the  dawn, 
go  paste  your  string,  turn  it  over  to  the 
"Shylock"  and  incontinently  hit  the  trail 
for  other  scenes? 

This  is  not  a  hypothetical  question — 
not  a  suppositious  one.  at  all  events — for 
it  brings  up  an  incident  just  as  it  hap- 
pened to  me  in  the  spring  of  1862,  a  few 
days  after  my  arrival  in  Virginia  City, 
Nevada.  There  was  a  dearth  of  printers, 
and  cases  had  been  handed  me  by  the 


137 


HANDSET    REMINISCENCES 

benevolent  and  gentlemanly  foreman  of 
the  Union;  and  it  may  be  as  well  to  say 
here  that  I  held  them  down  for  two 
years,  when  I  was  fired  for  insubordina- 
tion. 

It  was  during  the  first  silver  boom. 
There  were  fifteen  thousand  people  in 
the  city — then  but  two  years  old  as  time 
is  counted,  but  exceedingly  old  in  in- 
iquity. Everybody  had  money  to  burn, 
and  it  might  as  well  have  been  burned 
for  all  the  good  the.  bulk  of  it  did — 
squandered  as  fast  as  made.  There  were 
few  homies.  N:ew  comers  and  old  were 
in  luck  to  find  clean  rooms  and  a  place 
where  square,  meals  were  served.  More 
than  half  of  the  population  was  made  up 
of  disreputables,  including  hundreds  of 
desperadoes  who  had  graduated  in  played- 
out  gold  camps  of  California  and  lived 
to  get  away.  These  were  doing  most 
of  the.  shooting,  and  to  save  being  bank- 
rupted by  court  expenses  the  authorities 
allowed  them  to  shoot  without  let  or  hin- 
drance, so  long  as  they  did  not  molest 
or  injure  reputable  citizens. 

And  say,  maybe  you  think  it  wasn't 
a  picnic  for  those  unregenerate  cut- 
throats. On  one  occasion  the  'blood-let- 
ting was  so  frequent  that  the  Union  took 
on  a  moral  spasm  and  scathingly  de- 
nounced not  only  the  bad  mten,  but  the 

138 


THE    FIRST    SILVER    BOOM 

authorities  for  permitting  such  goings  on. 
That  night  a  man  of  blood  made  a  break 
to  get  back  at  the  Union,  and  it  hap- 
pened that  I  had  a  close  call.  I  have 
never  had  to  put  a  peg  there  to  remem- 
ber it.  My  stand  stood  next  to  a  front 
window.  About  the  hour  when  grave- 
yards yawn  I  was  "pegging  away,"  and 
just  reaching  for  a  capital  C,  when  a  bul- 
let crashed  through  the  glass,  and  pass- 
ing close  to  my  ear,  sank  into  the  capital 
B  box. 

The  contents  went  swarming,  like 
sure-enough  bees.  So  did  the  printers 
in  my  alley,  without  waiting  to  be  called 
out  by  the  father  of  the  chapel.  After 
that  I  never  worked  in  that  window  at 
night  without  a  curtain  between  me  and 
the  street;  and  that  was  the  only  time 
that  violence  was  offered  me,  albeit  I 
was  an  eye-witness  to  many  a  shooting- 
scrape  and  hundreds  of  bad  men  got  their 
eternal  deservings  while  I  was  in  the 
city. 

At  this  time  Mark  Twain  (Sam 
Clemens)  was  a  reporter  on  the  Terri- 
torial Enterprise,  and  I  presume  incident- 
ally gathering  his  notes  for  "Roughing 
It."  He  did  not  tell  in  his  book  of  in- 
teresting happenings,  humorous  and 

139 


HANDSET   REMINISCENCES 

otherwise,  that  would  have  filled  the  vol- 
umes of  a  small  library.  I  have  in  mind 
one  in  particular  that  had  Mark  himself 
in  the  cast. 

One  day,  with  my  sleeves  rolled  to  the 
elbows,  I  was  "throwing  in"  when  a  tall, 
gaunt,  red-headed  stranger  came,  with 
military  tread,  into  the  composing-room, 
and  advancing  several  paces  stood  there 
as  if  transfixed.  He,  had  on  a  slouch  hat, 
a  travel-stained,  old-fashioned  linen  dus- 
ter, that  reached  to  his  heels,  and  in  his 
hand  was  a  large  "carpet-bag,"  such  as 
our  fathers  used  to  carry.  Silently  he 
surveyed  the,  dozen  or  more  printers,  un- 
til his  eyes  rested  on  me.  Then  the  bag 
dropped  to  the  floor  as  if  released  by  an 
automatic  spring.  With  a  movement  like 
Hamlet's  ghost  he,  advanced  to  my  side, 
seized  my  arm,  stripped  it  to  the  shoul- 
der, and  tragically  pointing  to  a  vaccin- 
ation scar,  exclaimed : 

"Behold,  the  mark!  It  is,  it  is  my 
long  lost  brother.  Found  at  last!  Now 
may  all  the  gods  at  once  be  praised. 
Friends,  countrymen  and  brethren,  you 
votaries  of  rotgut,  let  us  all  repair  to  the 
nearest  inn  and  absorb,  say,  four  fingers, 
by  way  of  celebrating  this  glad  reunion." 

This  was  Artemus  Ward  (Charles  F. 
Browne),  with  whom  I  had  worked  on 
the  Cleveland  Plaindealer  at  the  time  he 

140 


THE    FIRST    SILVER    BOOM 

was  its  local  editor  and  writing  for  its 
Saturday  issues  the  sketches  that  made 
him  famous.  No  one  who  had  seen  him 
once,  could  ever  forget  him. 

There  was  no  work  for  me  during  his 
four  days'  stay.  He  had  been  announced 
by  the  papers  to  lecture  that  night,  'but 
not  a  'bill  had  been  posted. 

"B|rother,"  he  said  to  me,  "I  must 
say  unto  all  the  people,  yea,  upon  the 
walls  of  the  city,  I  am  come;  lest  perad- 
venture,  they  know  it  not,  and  bring  not 
their  shekels  unto  my  hopper.  Nbw, 
therefore,  prithee,  go  thou  with  me  to 
spread  the  glad  tidings,  and  verily  when 
we  have  done  this  thing  we  will  repair 
again  to  the  wine  cellar  of  the  publican, 
— which,  I  know  by  the  cut  of  his  jib  he's 
a  d — — d  sinner." 

These  were  his  exact  words,  as  nearly 
as  I  can  remember.  So  overflowing  with 
humor  was  Charley  Browne  that  he  sel- 
dom uttered  a  sober  sentence,  and  one  of 
his  favorite  modes  of  expression  was  in 
imitation  of  Holy  Writ. 

I  thought  I  was  in  for  a  regular  bill- 
posting  job,  but  submitted.  We,  went  to 
the  Enterprise  office,  and  procuring  a 
sheet  of  24  by  36  news  print,  with  a  blue 
pencil  he  wrote  upon  it  this  legend: 

141 


HANDSET   REMINISCENCES 

ARTEMUS  WARD 

WILL, 
SPEAK  HIS  PIECE 

HERE 
TONIGHT. 

This  he  tacked  on  the  door  of  Ma- 
guire's  opera  house,  and  though  the 
theatre  was  packed  each  night  of  his 
stay  it  was  the  only  posting  that  was 
done. 

I  do  not  believe  Mark  Twain  ever  en- 
tertained an  idea  that  he  was  to  really 
write  a  book  until  that  lecture  gave  him 
a  jolt.  Anyway,  from  that  time  there 
was  a  vein  of  wit  all  through  his  news- 
paper work  that  was  not  there  before, 
and  many  of  his  brightest  hits  seemed 
to  have  a  familiar  cast  to  those  who  heard 
the  lecture ;  though  they  were  really  or- 
iginal. He  was  following  a  new  train 
of  thought — evolving  an  idea — and  I  have 
since  believed  that,  as  a  genius,  he  was 
dreaming  until  Artemus  Ward  awakened 
him  to  his  capabilities ;'  that  no  doubt  the 
sayings  of  the  greatest  American  wit  pre- 
ceding him  had  always  been  green  in 
his  memory. 

A  row  of  seats  close  to  the  stage  at 
Mlaguire's,  usually  set  apart  for  news- 
paper men,  was  called  "the  printers' 
pew."  In  one  of  those  seats  was  Mark, 

142 


THE    FIRST    SILVER    BOOM 

with  open  mouth.  I  know,  because  I  sat 
beside  him.  The  lecture,  announced  as 
"Babes  in  the  Wood,"  without  reference 
to  its  title  was  a  continuous  string  of 
grotesque  and  absurd  witticisms — so 
keen,  dry  and  far-fetched  that  for  a  mom- 
ent no  one  could  see  a  point,  and  each 
time  a  laugh  was  due  the  lecturer  would 
pause  until  it  came.  With  the  first  guffaw 
the  audience  seemed  to  catch  on,  and 
then  it  would  go  off  like  a  corn-popper. 

When  the  uproar  had  subsided,  sud- 
denly a  spasmodic  "Haw,  haw,  haw!"  un- 
reserved as  if  from  a  burro  corral,  would 
attract  all  eyes  to  the  "pew1,"  and  at  each 
interruption  Artemus  paused  again,  and 
glaring  in  mock  anger,  said  something 
funny,  like,  "Has  it  been  watered  today?" 
once  saying,  "You  must  now  all  admit 
the  truth  of  the  old  saw  that  'he  who 
laughs  last  laughs  best/  " 

Little  did  he  think  that  that  same 
laugh  convulsed  a  greater  genius  than 
himself.  Its  tardiness  was  of  a  piece 
with  Mark  Twain's  poky  nature — even  to 
his  deliberate,  drawling  way  of  speaking, 
so  often  mentioned  as  one  of  his  char- 
acteristics. 

During  his  brief  stay  in  Virginia  City 
Artemus  had  an  elaborate  introduction  to 
its  wiild  and  woolly  ways.  He  visited 

143 


HANDSET   REMINISCENCES 

every  place  where  there  were  "sights," 
everywhere  accompanied  by  a  crowd  of 
convivial  spirits  who  (while  enjoying  his 
genial  humor)  were  not  unmindful  of 
his  prodigal  generosity. 

Once  as  he  was  passing  a  gambling 
den  two  Philistines  ran  into  the  street 
and  began  shooting  at  each  other.  A 
dead  man  was  the  result.  "Poor  devil," 
said  Artemus.  "They  told  me  over  in 
San  Francisco  you  people  often  get  real 
mad,  like  that,  but  I  was  hoping  my 
'Babes'  would  make  you  more  tractable 
and  better  natured.  I  see  it's  no  use. 
Thinking  of  the  place  he's  on  his  way  to 
makes  me.  thirst  for  ice  water.  Let  us 
repair  to  the  deadfall  of  the  publican  yet 
again." 

Artemus  went  by  stage  from  Nevada 
to  the  city  of  the  'Saints,  where  he  hob- 
nobbed with  Brigham  Young,  whom  he 
referred  to  in  his  book  as  "the  much- 
married  man."  On  his  last  night  in  Vir- 
ginia City,  after  the  lecture,  he  with  a 
crowd  visited  a  variety  show,  and  to 
gratify  his  inordinate  appetite  for  excite- 
ment and  fun  went  on  the  stage  as  a 
blackface  artist.  Not  even  the  actors 
knew  who  he  was,  and  his  friends  and  the 
manager  never  gave  it  away,  for  he  was 

144 


THE    FIRST    SILVER    BOOM 

as  bad  an  actor  as   he  was  great  as  a 
humorist. 

*     * 

During  the  two  years  I  was  in  Vir- 
ginia City  J.  T.  Goodman  was  managing 
editor  of  the  Territorial  Enterprise,  while 
Thomas  Fitch,  afterwards  famous  as  the 
"silver  tongued  orator  of  the  west,"  was 
editor  of  the  Virginia  City  Union — both 
morning  papers.  The  Union  had  re- 
cently been  moved  from  Carson  City, 
where  it  circulated  as  the  Golden  Age. 
John  Church  was  its  managing  editor  and 
Adair  Wilson  a  local  writer  wihile  Mark 
Twain  and  Dan  de  Quille  were  the.  En- 
terprise locals. 

Joe  Goodman  was  a  handsome,  reck- 
less young  fellow,  talented  and  brilliant, 
and  could  fill  his  editorial  page  off  hand 
with  articles  on  leading  topics  that  would 
have  done  credit  to  a  seasoned  veteran. 
Tom  Fitch  was  older,  of  wider  experi- 
ence, and  handled  a  caustic  pen.  (By  the 
way,  he  acted  as  private  secretary  to 
James  Buchanan  during  the  campaign  of 
1856,  in  which  Mr.  Buchanan  was  elected 
president.) 

Goodman  and  Fitch  took  a  strong  dis- 
like to  each  other,  and  as  sometimes  hap- 
pens even  to  this  day,  through  their  col- 
umns indulged  in  bitter  personalities,  in 
which  Fitch  seemed  to  rather  have  the 

145 


HANDSET   REMINISCENCES 

best  of  it  until  one  morning  the  Enter- 
prise contained  a  sharp  attack  on  his 
private  character  (more  or  less  true)  that 
called  for  blood.  So  Fitch  challenged 
Goodman. 

Now  this  was  just  what  Joe  wanted, 
for  he,  was  mad  enough  to  kill  Fitch ;  and 
the  chances  were  in  his  favor,  for  he  was 
rated  one  of  the  nerviest  and  best  shots 
in  the  territory.  One  of  his  favorite  re- 
sorts for  pastime  being  a  shooting  gal- 
lery, it  was  common  talk  among  his 
friends  that  he  could  hit  a  short  bit  four 
times  out  of  five  at  ten  paces.  Nothing 
was  known  of  Fitch's  ability  in  that  line. 

Seconds  had  perfected  arrangements 
for  the  affair  to  take  place  near  the  city, 
at  5  o'clock  next  morning;  when  friends 
having  interfered,  the  principals  were 
placed  under  $1000  bonds  each  to  keep 
the  peace  by  Judge  C.  C.  Goodwin,  then 
a  justice  of  Storey  county. 

It  was  then  secretly  agreed  that  the 
meeting  need  not  necessarily  be  post- 
poned, as  it  was  but  twenty-eight  miles 
to  the  California  line,  beyond  which  of 
course,  the  Nevada  court  had  no  jurisdic- 
tion. So  some  time  after  midnight  two 
hacks,  containing  principals,  seconds  and 
trusted  friends,  left  the  city  and  crossed 
the  line  in  due  time. 

146 


THE    FIRST    SILVER    BOOM 

Being  challenged  it  was  Goodman's 
privilege  to  name  the  weapons,  and  he 
chose  duelling  pistols.  By  agreement 
they  were  to  stand  at  fifteen  paces  and 
•fire  at  the  dropping  of  a  handkerchief. 
Should  the  first  exchange  be  sans 
result,  "reload  ami  repeat  or  retract  and 
retreat." 

Joe  Goodman  went  to  his  ground  as 
jauntily  as  if  on  the  way  to  a  fair,  his 
features  betraying  neither  concern  nor 
thought  of  the  grave  business  before  him,. 
He  wore  a  boutonaire  of  wild  flowers,  and 
as  he  stood  there,  bent  to  inhale  their 
fragrance.  Fitch,  on  the  other  hand, 
Was  pale,  and  with  nerves  at  high  tension 
walked  stiffly  to  his  place.  It  was  be- 
lieved that  at  the  last  moment  he  would 
develop  a  yellow  streak;  but  he  proved 
to  be  game  clear  through.  At  the  signal 
he  swiftly  raised  his  weapon,  and  fired 
before  the  handkerchief  touched  the 
ground.  This  was  the  first  time  he  had 
ever  pressed  a  hair  trigger,  and  it  be- 
trayed him.  Though  really  a  good  shot 
his  bullet  went  aimless  and  wide  of  the 
mark.  He  then  dropped  his  arm,  looked 
daggers  at  his  adversary  and  coolly 
awaited  his  fate. 

Goodman  now  had  Fitch  at  his  mercy. 
Deliberately  raising  his  weapon  he  aimed 
straight  at  his  head  and  held  the  bead  a 

147 


HANDSET   REMINISCENCES 

moment.  But  if  he  thought  a  flinch  was 
coming,  he  was  off  wrong.  By  his  pose 
and  glare  of  defiance1  Fitch  said,  as  plain- 
ly as  in  words:  "Shoot,  you  coward — I 
am  at  your  mercy!" 

No  doubt  the  thought  came  to  Good- 
man that  he  was  about  to  kill  a  defense- 
less man,  in  cold  blood;  for  suddenly  his 
bearing  changed — hesitation  took  the 
place  of  wicked  determination.  Glanc- 
ing toward  the,  spot  where  his  party  was 
standing  he  winked,  then  deliberately 
lowered  his  aim,  and  Fitch  hit  the  ground 
with  a  thud  and  a  hole  in  a  fleshy  part  of 
his  right  leg. 

One  of  the  first  to  reach  him  was  his  an- 
tagonist, now  "seeming  more  in  sorrow 
than  in  anger."  Goodman's  first  words 
were  something  like  this:  "Fitch,  I'm 
sorry  I  hurt  you — couldn't  be  hired'  to  do 
it  again,  this  way.  You  can  take  another 
shot  at  me,  any  time,  and  then  if  you 
like  we'll  call  it  off." 

The  proposition  was  of  course  preposter- 
ous, but  Fitch  was  overcome  by  its.  gener- 
osity. They  afterwards  became  pretty 
good  friends. 

In  the  Enterprise  office  was  a  printer 
named  Stephen  Gillis,  who  took  great  in- 
terest in  this  affair.  Being  a  Mississippian 

148 


THE    FIRST    SILVER    BOOM 

born  and  bred,  Steve  had  the  duelling  bug 
in  his  system  to  a  fighting  degree,  and 
at  times  it  seemed  his  greatest  ambition 
was  to  meet  an  adversary  on  the  field  of 
honor,  "by  Gad,  suh !"  Wrathy  because 
Goodman  would  not  carry  the  meet  to  a 
sensational  ending,  Steve  resolved  then 
and  there  to  seek  satisfaction  on  his  own 
hook.  It  was  a  cinch  that  with  oppor- 
tunity he  would  fight  all  right,  for  being 
handy  with  his  fists  he  had  been  the  hero 
of  many  encounters  in  a  rough  and  tumble 
way,  always  getting  off  without  a  scratch. 
Traveling  with  "Little  Ward,"  also  an  En- 
terprise printer,  and  on  the  side  an  all- 
around  athlete,  it  was  a  dull  Saturday 
night  when  they  did  not  clean  up  a  saloon 
or  get  the  best  of  a  street  quarrel. 

Only  the  night  before  the  big  duel  Steve 
had  met  with  "Red  Ed,"  foreman  of  the 
Union  job  room,  and  engaged  in  an  ar- 
gument with  him  as  to  the  merits  of  the 
difficulty.  Now  Red,  standing  six  feet  in 
his  stockings,  was  quite  muscular  and  had 
for  years  been  a  teacher  of  boxing  and 
gymnastics  in  a  gym.  He  was  a  red- 
haired,  freckled-faced,  good-natured  Ver- 
monter,  not  very  easy  to  get  "riled ;"  but 
when  Steve  made  several  gratuitous  re- 
marks about  "flat-footed  Yanks"  and 
"mudsills,"  something  came  into  Red's 

149 


HANDSET   REMINISCENCES 

steel  blue  eyes  that  did  not  look  real  good, 
and  Steve  craftily  concluded  not  to 
chance  his  record  in  a  fistic  encounter,  al- 
beit a  remark  had  been  made  by  Red  that 
any  gentleman  must  construe  as  a  "coa'se 
insult,  suh !" 

So  it  came  to  pass  that  next  day  after 
the  meeting,  as  Red  was  at  the  imposing 
stone  locking  a  form,  a  messenger  came 
from  the  Enterprise  office  and  handed  him 
a  note.  It  was  couched  in  as  mean,  insult- 
ing language  as  the  young  southerner 
could  command,  and  informed  Red  that 
though  he  was  no  gentleman — "a  low-bred, 
cowardly  scrub,  suh,"  if  he  wanted  satis- 
faction he  could  have  it,  and  knew  where 
the  writer  could  be  found. 

Red's  prevailing  color  may  have  deep- 
ened a  little,  but  he  uttered  not  a  word. 
Writing  at  the  bottom,  "Go  soke  your 
head!"  he  returned  the  note  to  the  mes- 
senger, resuming  the  mallet  and  shooting- 
stick  as  though  nothing  had  happened. 

Whether  Steve  followed  Red's  laconic 
advice  I  did  not  learn,  but  something  must 
have  taken  the  swelling  out  of  his  thinker, 
for  this  affair  of  "honah"  ended  there. 

After  this  veracious  account  was  writ- 
ten my  attention  was  called  to  an  autobi- 
ography of  Sam  Clemens,  quoted  in  his 

150 


THE    FIRST    SILVER    BOOM 

"How  to  Tell  a  Story."  Therein  it  is  re- 
lated that  Clemens  had  a  difficulty  wiith  a 
Mr.  Laird,  editor  of  the  Union,  a  challenge 
was  passed,  and  they  went  out  to  fight  with 
navy  revolvers  at  fifteen  paces.  Steve 
Gillis  acted  as  Clemens'  second.  While 
preliminaries  were  under  way,  Steve 
hauled  off  and  killed  a  sparrow  at  forty 
paces  or  such  a  matter.  The  shot  was  at- 
tributed to  the  great  humorist,  and  Laird 
fled  from  the  field. 

As  a  matter  o<f  fact,  Jim  Laird  was  not 
a  writer  though  one  of  the  Union  com- 
pany and  manager  of  the  jobbing  depart- 
ment. All  that  was  "dead  game"  about 
him  was  a  wooden  leg.  He.  was  anything 
but  a  fighter — didn't  look  like  he  could 
shoot  without  shutting  his  eyes.  So  far  as 
Clemens  was  concerned,  the  only  time  I 
ever  knewi  him  to  get  next  to  an  explosive 
was  one  Fourth  of  July,  when  he  tied  a 
bunch  of  crackers  to  a  whiffet's  tail.  He 
may  not  have  told  the  biographer  about  his 
duel  except  as  a  joke;  but  he  had  a  weak- 
ness for  posing  as  a  star  in  his  stories,  and 
at  a  late  day  saw  no  harm  in  relating  the 
Gillis  affair  to  suit  his  fancy. 

I  shall  have  to  let  my  version  of  it  go 

uncorrected. 

*     4 

Virginia  City  had  a  big  fire  in  1863, 
would  have  been  wiped  out  but  for  the 

151 


HANDSET    REMINISCENCES 

sudden  changing  of  a  strong  wind.  With 
the  exception  of  two  brick  structures  all 
the  business  buildings  and  tenements 
at  that  time  were  mere  shells,  constructed 
of  mountain  pine  or  fir,  with  tapestry 
walls.  They  burned  like  timber.  The 
Virginia  hotel  with  three  stories  and  con- 
taining upwards  of  two  hundred  rooms, 
was  consumed  in  twenty  minutes ;  and 
though  it  wias  midday  few  guests  saved 
even  their  gripsacks.  As  I  remember, 
about  one-third  of  the  city  went  up  in 
smoke. 

There  were  two-hand  engines,  man- 
ned by  companies  largely  composed  of 
dive,  keepers,  gamblers,  toughs  and  bums. 
They  were  practically  rival  aggregations, 
those  companies — each  having  desperate 
characters  for  their  chiefs,  while  the  chief 
engineer  easily  carried  the  trumpet  as  the 
champion  brute. 

The  water  supply  was  scant,  its  only 
source  being  one  of  the  Comstock's  mine 
tunnels.  In  the  midst  of  the  morning  it 
went  dry  and  the  chiefs  decided  to  move 
their  engines  to  possibly  better  positions. 
No.  1,  working  in  D  street  was  ordered 
up  to  C,  while  No.  2,  in  C  street,  started 
at  the  same  time  to  go  down  to  D.  The 
chiefs  were  not  on  speaking  terms,  or 
what  happened  might  have  been  avoided. 

152 


THE    FIRST    SILVER    BOOM 

They  undertook  to  pass  each  other  in  Tay- 
lor street,  little  wider  than  an  alley  and 
guttered  by  freshets  from  Mount  David- 
son until  the.  roadbed  was  a  deep,  V- 
shaped  cut.  The  engines  slid  to  the  cen- 
ter and  locked.  Accusations  of  careless- 
ness passed,  one  word  brought  on  an- 
other, and  a  fight  ensued  in  which  over 
a  hundred  choice  spirits  took  part.  As 
they  were  "cribbed,  cabined  and  con- 
fined" in  the  narrow  space,  it  was  like 
tying  a  couple,  of  cats  together  and 
throwing  them  over  a  clothes  line — Kil- 
kenny cats  at  that.  Pistols,  knives, 
wrenches  and  wagon  stakes  wtere  instant- 
ly at  a  premium.  Broken  heads  were  too 
numerous  to  mention.  Among  the  cas- 
ualties were  four  or  five  men  killed.  Jack 
Williams,  city  marshal — a  bad  man  him- 
self— when  the  hostilities  ceased  had  sev- 
eral kinds  of  lead  in  his  system.  It  was 
necessary  to  plug  such  a  case-hardened 
wretch  through  the  heart  to  kill  him,  but 
only  his  kidneys,  lights  and  liver  were 
damaged,  so  he  soon  recovered. 

The  Union  office,  was  in  the  second  story 
of  a  building  siding  on  Taylor  street. 
Looking  down  on  the.  melee  we  boys  took 
it  all  in,  as  safely  as  grandees  at  a  bull 
fight.  It  seemed  to  have  lasted  an  hour, 
though  ten  minutes  is  a  long  time  under 

153 


HANDSET   REMINISCENCES 

such  circumstances.  In  the  grand  wind- 
up  Macbeth  and  Miacduff  used  to  cut  and 
slash  and  back  and  fill  for  hours,  it 
seemed  to  me  as  a  boy;  but  I  am  now 
satisfied  Macbeth  made  a  hideous  face 
and  turned  up  his  toes  inside  of  two  min- 
utes. 

Caught  in  the  alley  during  the  un- 
pleasantness and  endeavoring  to  make 
his  getaway  was  a  young  printer  with 
whom  I  was  chummy,  Ed.  T.  Plank. 
He  was  passing  by  an  old  wagon  when  a 
double-fisted  fireman,  armied  with  a  stake, 
sneaked  up  from  behind  and  struck  a 
vicious  blow  at  his  head.  I  yelled,  but 
the  warning  was  too  late.  My  friend 
landed  in  a  limp  heap  under  the  wagon, 
and  I  believed  him  dead.  That  night  at 
Maguire's  I  sat  beside  a  man  whose  head 
was  so  bandaged  I  could  not  get  a 
glimpse  of  his  features,  only  visible  from 
the  stage.  At  the  close  of  the  play,  when 
he  arose  and  turned,  I  found  it  was  my 
chum  who  had  got  his  in  the  fireman's 
fight. 

4     4 

A  young  fellow  who  had  tramped  to 
Virginia  from  the  coast  and  arrived  with 
such  loud  pedal  extremities  as  to  suggest 
the  soubriquet  of  "Sugarfoot,"  for  in- 
curring the  jealousy  of  a  barkeeper  died 

164 


THE    FIRST    SILVER    BOOM 

with  his  'boots  on,  so  dramatically  that 
1  must  relate  the  incident. 

Though  Sugarfoot  made  his  living 
around  gaming  tables,  he  was  always 
well  dressed,  quiet,  never  profane  or  vul- 
gar and  seemed  to  have  been  bred  a  gen- 
tleman. If  there  was  the  trade-mark  of 
a  gambler  about  him  it  was  not  in  sight. 
So  he  came  to  mingle,  quite  freely  with 
the  more  respectable  class.  I  thought  of 
him  that  there  might  be  an  influence 
somewhere,  maybe  a  mother's  love,  that 
would  yet  reclaim  him  from  the  down- 
ward course. 

One  evening  I  sat  with  other  printers 
in  a  game  for  pastime  (and  the  be.er) 
when  Sugarfoot  came  up  and  asked  if 
he  might  take  a  hand.  He  stayed  through 
a  game  then  excused  himself  saying 
he  had  an  engagement  on  C  street,  a 
block  away.  He  had  not  been  gone  five 
minutes  when  we  heard  the  report  of  a 
gun.  As  that,  in  Virginia  City,  meant 
trouble,  we  left  the,  table  and  went  out 
into  the  open.  Several  persons  were  run- 
ning toward  C  street  and  our  party  fol- 
lowed. Turning  into  that  street,  we  were 
confonted  by  a  crowd  on  the  walk,  gath- 
ered around  the  body  of  a  man.  It  was 
poor  Sugarfoot,  with  his  face  and  part  of 
his  head  blown  off.  It  transpired  that  as 

155 


HANDSET   REMINISCENCES 

he  was  passing  the  saloon  where  his  rival 
was  employed,  the  barkeeper  seized  a 
double-barreled  shotgun  charged  with 
buckshot  and,  from  behind  the.  counter 
emptied  both  barrels  at  his  victim. 

There  was  no  arrest.     On  the  other 
hand  the  assassin  had  his  wages  raised 
for  having  attracted  a  crowd  of  custom- 
ers, who  called  to  learn  the  particulars. 
*     * 

Speaking  of  gamblers,  one  of  the  slick- 
est short-card  players  that  ever  struck 
"the  land  of  Washoe"  was  Andy  Bless- 
ington,  mentioned  by  Mark  Twain  in  his 
"Roughing  It."  I  knew  him  well  by  sight. 
He  was  a  bundle  of  nervous  energy,  full 
of  fun,  and  when  on  the  street  usually  the 
center  of  a  crowd  of  idlers  who  appre- 
ciated good  'jokes.  It  was  said  of  him 
that  he  could  not  get  into  a  poker  game 
with  gamblers,  it  being  a  cinch  that  he 
would  soon  have  all  the  money. 

One  night  in  the  Gould  &  Curry  sa- 
loon, I  was  watching  a  game,  when  Andy 
addressed  me: 

"Do  you  want  to  see  some  fun?" 

"Yes,"  I  replied.  "Where  and  what 
is  it?" 

"Those  fellows  there  are  tenderfeet, 
just  from  over  the  divide,  and  ought  to 
be  initiated.  They  don't  know  me,  or  the 

156 


THE    FIRST    SILVER    BOOM 

game,  more'n  a  jack  rabbit.  I'm  broke. 
Stand  in  with  me  ten  dollars'  worth  and 
watch.  I  pledge  you  my  word  that  in 
half  an  hour  I'll  have  them  standing 
around  with  their  hands  in  their  pockets 
wondering  how  it  happened." 

"No,  I'm  not  looking  for  that  kind  of 
easy  money." 

"Well,  then,  lend  me  ten  dollars  and  if 
you're  not  here  when  the.  jig  is  up  I'll  re- 
turn it  tomorrow." 

It  was  as  safe  as  a  bank  to  lend  any 
gambler  a  small  sum,  for  in  the  code  of 
their  fraternity  it  was  understood  to  be 
a  reflection  on  all  for  any  one  of  them  to 
owe  money  borrowed  on  the  outside. 
They  were  all  liable  to  strike  a  lean 
streak  at  any  time  and  need  "the  price." 
So,  if  one  went  back  on  his  word  that 
way,  he  was  tabooed  by  the  gang — boy- 
cotted— which  meant  that  he  might  as 
well  hunt  for  pastures  new. 

Impulsively  I  handed  him  the  money 
and  lingered  to  see  the,  result  As  he  left 
me  he  lifted  a  pack  of  cards  from  his 
coat  pocket  and  winked,  which  gave  me 
to  understand  that  it  was  a  "cold  deck." 
All  he  said  was,  "Watch  me,"  and  a  mo- 
ment later  he  was  in  the,  game. 

The  first  thing  he  did  was  to  place 
the  "stacked"  cards  on  his  right  knee. 

157 


HANDSET   REMINISCENCES 

Then  he  got  busy.  The  game  was  played 
with  quarters  and  halves  for  chips,  and 
it  was  a  rule  that  the  winner  of  a  "pot" 
also  wion  the  deal.  Every  time  consid- 
erable bets  were  made  before  the  draw, 
Andy  would  pile  the  coin  in  a  single 
stack,  and  somehow  two  or  three  halves 
would  stick  to  his  palm.  In  this  way  he 
'had  nearly  doubled  his  capital,  when  he 
won  a  pot,  again  doubled  his  money  and 
took  the  deal.  His  movements  were  so 
smooth  and  quick  that,  though  watch- 
ing, I  actually  did  not  see  him  swap  the 
cards,  but  after  they  were  dealt  he  looked 
up  at  me  and  winked  again,  as  he  slyly 
took  the  discarded  deck  from  his  knee  and 
put  it  in  his  pocket. 

Then  the  fun  began.  The  "sucker" 
next  to  Andy  made  a  smiall  bet  and  it 
was  called  and  raised  three  times  suc- 
cessively. Then  Andy  stacked  up  the 
contributions,  a  couple  of  dollars  again 
stuck  to  his  palm,  and  hei  came  back  with 
his  whole  bundle.  All  stayed,  while  the 
man  with  the  next  best  hand  made  sev- 
eral bets  on  the  side. 

The  show  down  was  great.  There  were 
three  "full  hands"  and  two  sets  of 
"fours !" 

The  nerve  of  him!  AnyT other  man 
making  a  deal  like  that  would  have  been 
shot  on  the  spot,  but  Andy  was  wise — 

158 


THE    FIRST    SILVER    BOOM 

had  hypnotized  his  victims  with  funny 
stories,  and  that  made  them  too  good 
natured  to  quarrel.  Three  of  the  players 
went  'broke.  He  of  the  side  winnings  had 
about  twenty  dollars,  and  Andy  proposed 
to  cut  cards  for  the  whole.  He  accepted 
and  lost.  There  was  then  not  a  dollar 
on  the  table  outside  of  Andy's  pile.  The 
end  had  come  in  less  than  half  an  hour. 
All  Andy  said  was:  "Well,  I'm  d—  d! 
That  was  the  biggest  luck  I  ever  saw  in 
a  poker  game.  Boys,  the  drinks  are  on 
me.  Whad'll  you  have?" 


At  Maguire's  opera  house  one  night, 
while  the  audience  was  waiting  for  the 
curtain  it  was  entertained  with  a  by- 
play not  on  the  bills.  A  notorious  gun- 
man named  Howard,  without  prelude, 
whipped  out  a  big  navy  and  began  firing 
at  another  roughneck,  named  Macnab, 
who  was  seated  in  the  same  circle  on  the 
opposite  side  of  the  house.  Instantly  there 
was  a  rush  from  the  seats  in  the  vicinity 
of  Macnab,  who  sat  with  his  hands  up, 
signifying  that  he  was  unarmed. 

"An'  you  call  yourself  a  sport,"  yelled 
Howard,  a'goin'  around  without  a  gun 
on?  Go  heel  yerself,  'cause  I'm  goin' 
to  git  ye  on  sight." 

159 


HANDSET   KEMINISCENCES 

•Macnab  obeyed  the  order.  Howard, 
a  few  days  later,  trying  to  keep  his  word, 
died  with  his  boots  on.  He  had  seven 
nicks  on  the  butt  of  his  pistol  —  a  record 
of  the  number  of  men  he  had  killed. 

The  temporary  account  of  empty  boxes 
and  a  few  damaged  seats  around  where, 
Macnab  was  sitting  were  the  only  other 
results  of  the  theater  shooting.  I  hap- 
pened to  be  in  the  stampede. 


I  left  the  Virginia  Union  by  "special 
request,"  as  the  sequence  of  an  incident 
that  happened  six  months  previously. 
Subs  were  scarce  then,  and  I  had  put  in 
two  or  three  ringers  under  compulsion, 
when  one  morning  a  printer  named  Joe 
Eckley,  just  in  from  California,  show;e,d 
up  and  went  to  work  for  me. 

Joe  was  a  first-class  compositor,  without 
a  blemish,  but  had  the  misfortune  to  be 
5lightly  deaf. 

Next  morning  as  I  entered  the  office  the 
foreman  —  Sam  Glessner  —  said  to  me: 

"J.  B.,  you'll  have  to  go  to  work  today, 
or  put  on  another  sub." 

"How!  so?" 

"I  don't  want  that  man  Eckley  around 
here.  You  have  to  throw  a  mallet  at  him 
to  make  him  hear." 

160 


THE    FIRST    SILVER    BOOM 

"But  Sam-,  he  has  worked  for  years  on 
the  coast  without  that  objection  ever  be- 
ing raised.  Besides,  he  knows  the  busi- 
ness and  don't  have  to  be  spoken  to  often. 
His  card,  and  humanity,  should  insure  him 
from  being  fired  for  such  a  reason." 

"Well  you  heard  what  I  said,  and  it 
goes." 

I  was  indignant,  and  did  not  return  to 
the  office  for  a  week. 

Nothing  had  been  said  about  my  being 
fired,  so  when  in  the  humor  I  returned  to 
my  cases.  As  Sam  came  in  he  gave  me 
a  stony  stare  that  told  me  two  things. 
On  second  thought  he  had  concluded  that 
to  bar  Eckley  for  such  a  cause  would  in- 
volve him  in  a  personal  difficulty,  and 
might  bring  on  a  strike;  while  to  let  me 
out  for  keeping  him  on  would  have  a  like 
effect.  Secondly,  he  had  a  grudge  laid 
away  for  me,  that  would  be  uncanned  on 
the  first  opportunity.  He  was  a  pusilani- 
mous  cur  that  no  one  liked — given  to 
grudges  and  contemptible  ways. 

What  followed  proved  that  I  had  the  sit- 
uation down  pat.  Eckley  subbed  in  the 
Union  as  long  as  he  liked,  and  so  far  as 
I  know  never  learned  of  the  attempt  to 
bar  him.  Years  after  he  was  appointed 
state  printer  of  Nevada,  holding-  the  posi- 
tion for  a  number  of  terms. 

161 


HANDSET   REMINISCENCES 

Incidentally,  there  was  a  grudge  on  the 
side  that  may  have  had  something  to  do 
with  my  ultimate  "layoff."  In  the  first 
year  of  the  rebellion,  when  the  government 
was  hard  pressed  for  specie  and  had  not 
yet  issued  the  fractional  paper  currency 
which  proved  such  a  boon  to  the  country, 
postage  stamps  were  used  in  the  eastern 
states  for  change.  No  greater  abomina- 
tion was  ever  circulated  as  money.  If  one 
happened  to  have  a  pocket  full  and  they 
got  damp,  just  imagine  how  they  resolved 
themselves  into  a  stuck  up,  impossible  wad, 
until  laundried  not  worth  a  beer. 

On  the  other  hand,  at  this  time  there 
was  a  United  States  mint  at  Virginia  City, 
coining  bullion  from  the  Comstock  lode, 
and  the  town  was  overrun  with  new  silver 
quarters  and  halves  until  the  government 
found  a  way  to  transfer  the  mint's  output 
to  the  national  treasury.  Then  came  an 
order  forbidding  the  issuing  of  a  dollar  of 
specie  locally.  Previously  it  had  become 
so  plentiful  as  to  go  at  3  per  cent  discount, 
and  the  Union  company,  with  many  other 
business  firms,  was  turning  an  honest 
penny  by  exchanging  its  gold  collections  at 
the  mint  for  silver.  So  it  followed  that 
week  after  week  when  the  ghost  walked 
the  Union  .boys  needed  gunnysacks  in 
which  to  carry  away  their  plunder.  For 

162 


THE    FIRST    SILVER    BOOM 

instance,  if  one  had  made  $50  he  was  cer- 
tain to  be,  handed  $10  in  quarters  and  $40 
in  halves.  Following  a  protest,  one  week 
the  force  refused  to  accept  the  all-silver 
proposition ;  whereupon  in  a  rage  the  com- 
pany changed  the  silver  to  all  gold,  and  af- 
ter that  none  was  paid  to  us  except  in  odd 
change  of  less  than  $2.50. 

This  tale  is  none  too  long  for  the  size  of 
the  cat.  Within  six  weeks  after  the  gov- 
ernment order  went  into  effect  silver  actu- 
ally went  to  a  premium,  so  scarce  it  had 
become.  The  banks  no  longer  paid  it  out ; 
and  the  city  being  dependent  on  freight- 
ers, they  received  for  their  goods  and  car- 
ried away  about  all  the  currency  in  cir- 
culation. 

'Then  we  were  up  against  a  condition 
more  disagreeable  than  the  first.  If  one's 
name  was  on  the  roll  for  $62.50,  he 
would  receive  three  twenties  and  a  $2.50 
piece,  then  could  hunt  for;  change  in  vain 
the  city  over.  About  the  only  way  to 
break  a  twenty  was  to  buy  a  stack  of  faro 
checks.  I  remember  of  tendering  one  suc- 
cessively for  a  meal  check,  room  rent  and 
current  expenses,  and  at  the  end  of  the 
week  still  having  the  piece,  mortgaged  for 
more  than  its  face. 

In  time  the  change  famine  was  eased  up 
by  importations  from  California;  but 

163 


HANDSET   REMINISCENCES 

the  Union  office  had  a  grouch,  just  the 
same,  that  could  be  felt  for  a  long"  time. 
Frequent  sarcastic  remarks  handed  out  by 
Sam  Glessner  gave  me  to  understand  I  had 
been  spotted  as  a  chief  instigator  of  the 
"gold  strike." 

In  the  summer  of  1864  one  day  the  bot- 
tom fell  out  of  Virginia  City.  To  be  more 
explicit,  at  the  beginning  of  a  certain  week 
the  boom  was  on,  with  everything  moving 
pretty  much  as  usual — the  miners  were 
employed,  new1  properties  were  developing, 
capital  was  being  invested,  and  there 
seemed  the  usual  amount  of  money  in  cir- 
culation. At  the  week's  end  somiething 
like  a  panic  was  on.  Capital  had  gone  into 
hiding,  non-producing  mines  and  wildcats 
had  closed  down,  many  men  were  idle, 
money  was  scarce.  This  was  the  legiti- 
mate result  of  incautious  investments  and 
a  scandalous  amount  of  wildcatting,  with 
dark  transactions  on  the  local  and  San 
Francisco  mining  exchanges  that  had  been 
going  on  for  many  months.  The  prodigi- 
ously rich  Comstock  lode,  with  its  steady 
outpour  of  wealth  and  limitations  not  yet 
defined,  seemed  to  have  impressed  many 
with  the  belief  that  all  Washoe  was  under- 
laid with  a  blanket  of  silver.  When  the 
break  came  such  alarm  took  possession  of 
everybody  engaged  in  mining,  legitimate 

164 


THE    FIRST    SILVER    BOOM 

and  otherwise,  that  a  long  period  of  dull- 
ness followed. 

The  effect  of  this  panic  can  be  well  illus- 
trated by  telling  what  it  did  to  the  news- 
papers. Within  a  month  the  Enterprise 
and  Union  were  on  hardtack  rations,  while 
a  couple  of  struggling  sheets  had  furnish- 
ed stiffs  for  the  beginning  of  a  newpaper 
boneyard.  Whereas,  before  the  scare  the 
big  papers  were  crowded  with  ads  and  used 
5  and  6-point  body  type,  the  Union's  edi- 
torials were  now  in  10-point,  its  news  in 
7-point  and  miscellany  in  juicy  11-point. 
It  was  awful. 

As  I  entered  the  office  one  morning1  my 
friend  Sam  sat  in  the  bull  pen,  red-eyed, 
an  hour  before  due.  He  looked  almost 
glad  about  something,  and  before  a  word 
was  spoken  I  had  a  hunch  that  he  had  dug 
it  up. 

"J.  B.,  you'll  have  to  lay  off  for  a 
while,"  he  said. 

"For  which,  though  mine  are  among 
the  oldest  cases,  I  venture  to  hope  you 
won't  allow  your  feelings  to  unnerve  you." 

"Back  talk  isn't  necessary.  Your  cases 
are  vacant." 

"Oh,  I  w'as  just  joshing,  you  know.  I'm 
going  to  bottle  my  back  talk  for  future 
use.  You'll  have  to  go  a  flying  out  ol 
here  yourself  within  three  months,  and 

165 


HANDSET   REMINISCENCES 

then,  Sam,  if  you  hoof  it  to  the  coast,  my 
turn  will  come." 

Many  of  the  boys  had  to  leave  Virginia 
City,  and  there  was  but  one  way  out — 
coastward.  I  never  saw  Glessner  again. 
He,  with  other  printers,  forming  a  stock 
company,  took  over  the  Union  and  plant 
for  what  was  coming  to  them.  But  the 
daisies  had  blown  over  its  final  resting 
place  long  before  1867,  when  Virginia 
City  was  entering  upon  its  second  boom 
— the  biggest  in  its  history. 


166 


The  Inspired  Liar. 

In  the  quite  long  ago  James  W.  E. 
Townsend  (otherwise  "Jim"),  printer, 
jokesmith  and  reformed  sailor,  had  a  rep- 
utation in  California  as  a  tolerable  wit, 
and  an  all-around  liar  in  narrative  and 
harmless  form. 

'Occasionally  Jim  would  say  funny 
things  calculated  to  make  a  wit  of  na- 
tional reputation  stop  to  listen;  but  un- 
like Mark  Twain,  he  always  laughed 
louder  than  anybody  at  his  own  jokes; 
also,  he  was  strictly  original — lacking 
Twain's  abnormal  gift  of  making  mer- 
chandise of  the  thoughts  of  others  by 
masquerading  them  in  unrecognizable 
togs.  When  it  came  to  spinning  Mun- 
chausen-like  yarns,  with  himself  as  the 
hero,  he  easily  had  Twain  skinned. 

I  first  worked  with  Jim  Townsend  in 
the  composing  room  of  the  San  Francisco 
Mirror,  a  consumptive  sheet  of  some  note 
in  its  brief  day.  It  hit  the  newspaper 
cemetery  early  in  the  sixties.  He  after- 
wards worked  with  me  on  the  Virginia 
City  (Nev.)  Union. 

When  on  standing  time  he  would  of- 
ten convulse  "the  alley"  with  some  lively 

167 


HANDSET    REMINISCENCES 

personal  experience  which  nobody  be- 
lieved, during  the  telling  of  which  his 
high-tenor  hee-haw  would  echo  from 
buildings  across  the  street. 

But  there  was  a  streak  of  unaccount- 
able dullness  in  his  makeup,  for  one  so 
bright  in  other  ways.  To  illustrate,  one 
night  while  setting  time  copy,  consisting 
of  a  pinch  of  unpasted  jokelets,  he  sang 
out: 

"Say,  boss,  there's  a  joke  on  both  sides 
of  this  piece." 

"That's  not  your  fault.  Set  'em  up," 
said  the  foreman. 

When  the  proof  came,  Jim  had  to  lift 
these  lines  on  to  the  dead  galley: 

"Gadzooks !  a  coward,  quotha  ?  Nay, 
then,  draw  villian,  and  I  will  smite  thee 
hip  and  thigh."  (Evidently  from  a  story.) 

Townsend  was  something  of  a  practi- 
cal joker,  too.  I  recall  one  of  the  fun- 
niest things  he  ever  perpetrated,  though 
it  had  a  singular  and  serious  ending. 

On  the  Mirror  was  subbing  a  broken- 
down,  drunken  ex-editor  from,  the  inter- 
ior known  as  "Warhorse"  Jones.  He 
would  work  a  few  days,  then  be  drunk 
a  few  weeks,  until  he  came  to  be  lined 
up  as  a  chronic  old  bum. 

When  a  writer,  "Warhorse"  acquired 
a  reputation  for  sensational  bellicose  at- 

168 


AN     INSPIRED    LIAR 

titudes.  He  was  a  bitter  secessionist,  and 
when  the  war  broke  out  seldom  put  an 
edition  to  press  that  did  not  make  the 
country  fairly  shudder  for  miles  around. 

Every  week  he  mopped  the  earth  with 
"Abraham  Africanus  the  First,"  as  he 
called  our  beloved  president,  and  for 
light  diversion  obliterated  several  es- 
teemed union  contemporaries  if  they 
chanced  to  cross  him1.  He  was  everlast- 
ingly about  to  fight  a  duel,  but  on  one 
pretext  or  another  never  did.  He  actu- 
ally scared  a  man  out  of  the  state  on 
one  occasion.  Generally  well  known  to 
be  an  arrant  coward,  to  many  his  vio- 
lence was  a  source  of  great  amusement 
and  originated  his  nickname. 

Among  Jones'  peculiarities  was  a  mor- 
bid horror  of  smallpox.  Seldom  a  day 
passed  that  he  did  not  refer  to  the.  dread 
disease  with  bated  breath.  Once  after 
a  prolonged  spree  he  staggered  into  the 
office  in  a  shaky  condition,  his  face  spat- 
tered with  mud  from  the  wheels  of  some 
vehicle.  Townsend,  at  the  dead  stone 
about  to  lift  a  handful,  suddenly  struck 
an  attitude  of  fright  and  yelled : 

"Great  God!     Warhorse,     what's     the 
matter  with  you?" 

Jones  turned  pale,  but  reckoned  he 
was  only  feeling  bad  for  the  want  of  a 
drink. 

169 


HANDSET    REMINISCENCES 

"Drink !"  exclaimed  Jim,  backing 
away.  "Why  man,  you're  all  broke  out 
with  smallpox.  Look  in  the  glass." 

Across  the  office  was  a  mirror,  and 
in  it  Jones  caught  a  glimpse  of  his  soiled 
face.  Uttering  a  cry  of  terror,  he  leaned 
against  the  dead  stone  for  support.  Jim 
then  edged  up  a  little  and  said  compas- 
sionately : 

"Now,  Warhorse,  listen :  Don't  you 
lose  a  minute  in  getting  to  the  hospital. 
You'll  give  us  all  a  dose  if  you  don't 
light  right  out.  If  you're  too  sick  to 
walk  I'll  send  for  a  dray." 

Jones  then  braced  up,  and  without  a 
word  staggered  out  of  the  door.  Sev- 
eral days  later  word  came  from  the  pest 
house  that  he  was  there,  so  badly  dis- 
figured with  pustules  his  intimate  friends 
would  not  know  him.  In  fact,  he  went 
through  every  stage  of  the  disease  and 
came  near  dying. 

The  case  caused  much  comment 
among  physicians,  and  was  the  subject 
of  a  lengthy  article  in  a  medical  journal 
bearing  on  similar  phenomena.  His  doc- 
tors decided  that  he  had  simulated  the 
disease  through  abnormal  fear,  and  in 
fact  did  not  have  smallpox  at  all. 

On  one  occasion  Townsend  related 
how  he  was  once  on  a  three  years*  whal- 

170 


AN    INSPIRED    LIAR 

ing  voyage  in  the  northern  Pacific;  that 
when  the  jig  was  up  the  ship  sailed 
south,  made  Honolulu  harbor  and 
dropped  anchor  for  a  few  days. 

While  on  shore  he  happened  into  a 
daily  paper  office,  and  making  himself 
known  was  asked  to  go  on  cases  for  a 
day.  Npthing  loth,  he  peeled  his  coat 
and  in  eight  hours  piled  up  14,400  of  solid 
brevier  (8-point).  That  string,  he  said, 
paralyzed  the  foreman,  wiho  had  never 
before  seen  a  printer  wiho  could  average 
more  than  1,100,  and  said  a  "hand"  who 
could  stick  type  like  that  ought  to  be 
willing  to  work  for  two-thirds  of  the 
scale. 

Nbw  Jim  was  really  a  1,700-an-hour 
swift.  So  this  story  easily  added  one 
more  to  his  wealth  of  fairy  tales,  for 
fancy  a  comp  with  caloused  hands,  stiff 
with  "tar,  pitch  and  turpentine,"  after 
three  years  on  shipboard  striking  an 
1,800-an-hour  gait! 

While  on  another  alleged  whaling 
voyage,  this  time  in  the  south  seas,  his 
vessel  was  wrecked  near  one  of  the  Fegee 
islands,  and  he  with  five  other  tars  was 
rescued  by  the  natives.  They  had  not 
yet  been  converted  from  the  broiled  mis- 
sionary habit,  and  after  a  protracted 
counsel  decided  upon  having  a  grand 

171 


HANDSET    REMINISCENCES 

feast  at  every  new  moon  so  long  as  the 
sailors  lasted.  The  unfortunates  were 
placed  in  a  pen,  and  every  month  Jim 
saw  the  fattest  of  his  comrades  led  away 
to  the  music  of  kettle  drums,  until  he 
only  renivained.  He  was  a  skinny,  lan- 
tern-jawed New  Englander,  so  had  the 
rest  easily  scooped  for  last  place. 

When  at  length  his  turn  icame  the 
king  appeared,  preceded,  by  drums  and 
followed  by  half-a-dozen  islanders  in 
single  file.  They  felt  of  Jim's  ribs  with 
a  no-good  grunt,  but  opened  the  pen  and 
he  saw  that  after  his  six-months'  weary 
wait  it  was  all  off  with  him. 

The  king  was  togged  out  for  a  grand 
wind-up,  and  would  brook  no  delay.  He 
had  on  an  extra  coating  of  paint,  a  mis- 
sionary's plug  hat  and  a  red  necktie, 
which  was  all  the  clothing  in  the  crowd 
except  the  rings  in  their  ears. 

In  the.  return  procession  Jim  was 
placed  immediately  behind  the  king.  It 
seemed  a  cinch,  he  said,  that  he  would 
be  next  to  the  fire  in  a  few  minutes,  so 
for  a  parting  diversion  and  to  stretch 
himself  after  the  long  confinement  he 
sprang  to  the  side  of  the  king,  gave  him 
a  high  sign  and  began  a  series  of  gro- 
tesque postures  and  kowtow's  that  par- 
alysed the  islanders,  ending  with  a 

172 


AN]    INSPIRED    LIAR 

salaam  to  the  cardinal  points  of  the  com- 
pass. Then  he  handed  the  king  a  plug 
of  tobacco,  that  he  had  concealed  under 
his  shirt  though  he  did  not  use  the  weed. 

Hiding  that  tobacco  was  the  luckiest 
move  Jim  ever  made.  The?  mere  sight  of 
it  was  electrical,  for  his  benighted  cap- 
tors had  learned  that  to  eat  flesh  satu- 
rated with  tobacco  meant  deathly  sick- 
ness. The  king  rolled  his  eyes  skyward 
and  gagged;  then  they  all  gagged. 

After  a  consultation,  all  meanwhile 
eyeing  Jim  with  loathing,  he  was  re- 
turned to  the  pen  innocent  of  what  was 
the  matter. 

Next  morning,  however,  he  was  taken 
before  the  king,  who  by  signs  gave  him 
to  understand  he  was  an  immune,  being 
no  good  for  culinary  purposes.  It  seems, 
too,  the  king  had  taken  a  great  shine  to 
Jim  on  account  of  his  graceful  posturing 
and  gall.  It  ended  in  his  being  adopted 
toy  the  islanders  and  forced  to  marry  one 
of  the  king's  daughters — with  the  view, 
he  presumed,  of  improving  the  breed. 
Finally  he  was  made  the  king's  viceroy, 
or  something  like  that,  and  he  'said  he 
might  have  lived  there  happily  ever  after 
but  for  having  made  his  escape  on  an 
English  brig  that  touched  the  island  for 
water,  leaving  a  son  as  bow-legged  and 
black  as  its  mother. 

173 


HANDSET    REMINISCENCES 

A  trick  that  Townsend  played  along 
in  the  eighties  seemed  to  have  savored 
more  of  cupidity  than  fun,  and  got  him 
into  disrepute,  among  those  not  on  the 
inside  at  least. 

He  was  editing  and  printing  a  small 
weekly  up  Grass  Valley  way,  that  was  in 
the  political  interest  of  the  owner — a 
candidate  for  a  county  office.  Jim  had  not 
been  paid  for  several  weeks,  the  sheet 
was  to  be  closed  down  at  the.  end  of  the 
campaign,  and  it  began  to  look  very  much 
like  he  would  have  to  walk  out. 

In  a  saloon  one  evening  he  was  dis- 
cussing his  boss  in  uncomplimentary 
terms,  and  mentioned  the  unpaid  stip- 
end. It  happened  that  the  opposition 
candidate  was  one  of  several  listeners. 
Calling  Jim  to  one  side  he  said: 

"Look  a  here,  pardner,  you  ought  to 
know  by  this  time  that  that  thar  boss 
of  yourn  is  a  dead  beat  an'  no  good  on 
earth.  He  won't  pay  you  a  dollar.  With 
that  thar  paper  he  has  the  "age"  on  me, 
an'  I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  do :  "If  you'll 
throw  out  his  truck  and  turn  the  ed- 
itorial page  of  the  next  issue  over  to  me, 
I'll  see  you  get  your  wages  in  full  and 
give  you  $200  on  the  side." 

Jim  accepted  the  proposition. 
All     Friday     night     the     conspirators 
worked  with  curtains  down;  the  edition 

174 


AN     INSPIRED    LIAR 

was  made  ready  for  the  postoffice,  and 
Jim  took  mighty  good  care  at  daylight 
next  morning  to  hit  the  stage  for  Frisco 
« — maybe  to  journey  on  and  rejoin  his 
dusky  partner  in  the  Fegees. 

I  do  not  know  how  the  election  re- 
sulted, and  have  never  since  heard  di- 
rectly of  the  inspired  liar. 


175 


Union  Man  in  a  Rat  Hole. 


In  the  spring  of  1865  I  blew  into  N'ew 
York  from  the  Pacific  coast,  after  five 
years'  absence.  May  1,  at  Aspinwall, 
on  climbing  to  the  deck  of  the  Atlantic 
steamship,  the  first  thing  I  saw  was  a 
large  placard  nailed  to  one  of  the  masts, 
which  read: 

"President  Abraham  Lincoln  was  as- 
sassinated on  the  night  of  April  14  by 
John  Wilkes  Booth,  the  actor,  while  at- 
tending a  performance  at  Ford's  theater, 
Washington." 

Imagine  the  sensation  caused  by  that 
announcement  among  the  more  than  1,000 
passengers ! 

I  mention  this  incident  because  of  the 
fact  that  the  San  Francisco  Press,  a  "se- 
cesh"  "rat"  sheet,  re-echoed  the  cry  of 
the  assassin,  "Sic  semper  tyrannis!"  for 
which  the  office  was  gutted  and  its  con- 
tents thrown  into  the  streets  by  an  in- 
furiated mob ;  and  the  Press,  then  and 
there  surrendering  up  the  ghost,  has  in- 
directly to  do  with  this  story. 

I  was  made  a  member  of  No.  6  IVTay 
12,  1860,  and  worked  on  the  Herald  until 

176 


UNION   MAN   IN   A   RAT   HOLE 

the  following  fall;  so  on  my  return  na- 
turally "showed  up"  there.  The  chapel 
father  reported  a  big  sub  list,  and  sug- 
gested that  as  I  was  little  known  outside 
of  the  Herald  I  should  go  over  to  the 
World  and  strike  Pinkerton  for  a  job. 

This  man  Pinkerton  is  no  doubt  re- 
membered by  many  oldtimers  as  one  of 
the  meanest,  most  vicious  "rats"  the 
earth  ever  produced.  He  was  an  over- 
grown, brutish-looking  fellow,  with  a 
voice,  like  a  steam  whistle — shrewd  as  he 
was  unfair.  When  he  snorted  an  order 
from  the  bullpen  some  trembling  rodent 
was  sure  to  drop  a  handful  of  type.  After 
growing  a  long  tail  in  Philadelphia,  Pink- 
erton went  to  New  York  and  induced  the 
management  of  the  World  to  make  him 
foreman  and  employ  non-union  men, 
a  gang  of  whom  was  always  at  his 
beck.  Be  it  said  in  extenuation  for  the 
World  owners  that  at  the  time  he  applied 
to  them  they  had  sunk  upwards  of  $300,- 
000,  and  were  willing  to  accept  most  any 
proposition  looking  to  a  reduction  of  ex- 
penses. 

No.  6  was  anxious  to  sneak  union  men 
into  the  office,  with  the  view  of  ulti- 
mately rooting  Pinkerton  out.  Let  me 
state  here  that  the  scheme  worked  beau- 
tifully. It  was  soon  discovered  by  us 
"square  men"  that  he  was  systematic- 

177 


HANDSET    REMINISCENCES 

ally  falsifying  his  reports  and  pocketing 
the  pay  of  several  dummies  regularly  ap- 
pearing in  his  composition  accounts ;  also, 
that  some  ten  girls  who  were  setting  the 
fat  matter  in  a  side  room  were  of.  doubt- 
ful reputation,  and  the  room  was  slyly 
referred  to,  even  by  his  henchmen,  as 
"Pinkerton's  harem." 

These  facts  having  been  laid  before 
the  management  by  a  union  committee, 
an  investigation  resulted  in  Pinkerton 
and  his  gang  being  incontinently  fired. 
He  was  also  arrested  and  forced  to  cough 
up  some  of  his  pilferings. 

From  that  day  the  World  has  been, 
I  believe,  a  staunch  union  office.  So  I 
can  congratulate  myself  that  the  World 
is  some  better  for  my  having  lived. 

Of  course,  I  had  to  ask  permission  of 
Pinkerton  to  be  placed  on  the  sub  list. 
He  wanted  to  know  where  I  worked  last 
and  I  said  on  the  San  Francisco  Press — 
which  I  trust  was  an  excusable  He.  He 
posted  my  name,  and  within  a  few  min- 
utes I  was  throwing  in  on  No.  36 

Nlext  morning  Pinkerton  bawled  out: 

"Who  worked  on  36  last  night?"  I 
answered  that  I  did. 

"Come,  'ere !"  and  on  my  arrival  at  the 
bullpen  he  asked : 

"How  long  since  you  arrived  from 
'Frisco?" 

178 


UNION   MAN   IN   A   RAT   HOLE 

"A  week." 

"Ever  worked  in  New  York  before?" 

"No." 

"You  are  not  a  union  man?" 

"No." 

"You  look  like  you  have  the  union 
'brand  on  you  somewhere,  but  I  want  to 
get  rid  of  that  d — d  clam-catcher  holding 
36,  and  you  may  represent  it  until  further 
orders.  Mlind  your  own  business,  and 
keep  your  mouth  shut." 

There  was  a  daisy  rule — that  the  dirt- 
iest take  had  to  correct  the  whole  galley ; 
and  say,  it.  was  a  corker!  The  black- 
smiths would  set  type  three  hours  and 
hammer  the  rest  of  the  night.  If  this 
rule  was  intended  to  weed  out  the  worst, 
it  was  all  right.  They  soon  got  weary. 
In  the  next  six  weeks  not  a  galley  was 
passed  to  me. 

One  day  I  had  my  cases  thrown  in 
by  a  noted  San  Francisco  forty-niner, 
who  in  the  golden  days  was  paid  at  the. 
rate  of  $150  for  six  day's  work  at  case. 
He  had  degenerated  somewhat,  but  was 
still  a  good  printer  when  not  boozed.  On 
this  occasion  he  wias  pretty  shaky  and 
"mixed  the  babies  up" 

I  did  not  read  my  sticks  and  that  night 
a  "take"  full  of  typographical  errors 
was  passed  to  me.  Tlhe  proof  as  a  whole 
was  a  sight.  I  corrected  my  matter, 

179 


HANDSET    REMINISCENCES 

pulled  my  slug,  and  laid  the  galley  along- 
side of  the  night  foreman,  explaining  how 
my  cases  came  to  be  foul  and  saying 
that  as  I  had  no  anvil  I  could  not  correct 
the  rest 

It  was  mly  turn  to  get  fired,  but  I 
heard  nothing  more  of  it,  possibly  for  the 
reason  that  among  the  forty  alleged  print- 
ers there  were  not  more  than  a  dozen 
good  ones — most  of  them  "sneaks"  like 
myself.  (Among  the  latter  was  Arens- 
fourg,  the  "fast  crab,"  who  on  a  bet  set 
nearly  2,200  of  solid  minion  in  sixty  min- 
utes.) 

'Manton  Marble  was  the  editor  of  the 
World.  Horace  Greeley  was  then  editor 
of  the  Tribune,  James  Gordon  Bennett — 
the  elder — of  the  Herald,  Charles  A.  Dana 
of  the  Sun  and  Raymond  of  the  Times. 
What  a  galaxy!  "Newspaper  Row,"  or 
the  world,  never  before  or  after  saw  such 
an  array  of  brilliant  writers  within  gun- 
shot of  each  other,  and  at  times  all  mad 
enough  to  shoot. 

It  was  Mr.  Marble's  habit  to  prepare 
his  copy  during  the  day,  attend  a  club 
or  theater  during  the  evening,  and  show 
up  about  11  o'clock  for  proofs,  and  woe 
to  the  piker  who  delayed  a  galley. 

One  night  an  editorial  severely  crit- 
icizing General  Daniel  E.  Sickles,  the  gal- 
lant one-legged  civil  war  veteran,  was 

180 


UNION   MAN   IN   A   RAT   HOLE 

run  out.  It  was  a  day  or  two  after  the 
encounter  in  Washington  in  which  Gen- 
eral Sickles  shot  and  killed  Philip  Barton 
Key  for  alleged  intimacy  with  M'rs.  Sick- 
les, then  a  popular  leader  of  Washington 
society.  General  Sickles  himself  had  a 
past  master's  reputation  as  a  gay  Lo- 
thario and,  as  he  was  figuring  in  politics 
as  a  Republican,  the  article  scathingly 
denounced  the  killing  as  the  cowardly 
act  of  a  disreputable  bully. 

I  had  emptied  a  small  take  of  the 
stuff  and  was  on  "waiting  time,"  when 
I  noticed  that  the,  rodent  on  37  was  in 
trouble.  Mir.  Marble's  manuscript  was 
nearly  as  bad  as  Horace  Greeley's  "chow- 
chow/'  and,  with  a  take  before  him  37 
was  leaning  on  his  elbows  in  despair. 
Suddenly  he  said: 

"Excuse  me,  but  I've  <been  to  every 
man  in  the  alley,  and  not  one  can  read 
'this  piece/  or  start  it.  Can  you?" 

I  had  glanced  at  the  manuscript  and 
saw  at  once  that  it  was  a  pertinent  quo- 
tation from  "Richard  III"  which  I  could 
quote  from  memory. 

"What's  the  matter  with  you?"  I  said 
"That  copy  is  like  re-print." 

"Well,  I  don't  know  about  that,  but 
I  do  know1  I  don't  want  to  lose  my  situa- 
tion, and  will  give  you  a  dollar  to  take 
it  off  my  hands." 

181 


HANDSET    REMINISCENCES 

"Dig  up" 

He  handed  over  the  price  and  reached 
for  the.  copy,  when  I  told  him  to  leave  it 
where  it  was.  I  then  set  the  following, 
only  referring  to  the  manuscript  a  couple 
of  times  for  feet  and  punctuation : 

"Now   are   our   (brows   bound    with,    victorious 

wreaths, 

Our  -bruised  arms  held  up  as  monuments; 
Our  stern  alarms  changed  to  merry  meetings, 
Our  dreadful  marches  to  delightful  measures. 
Grim-visaged  war  has  smoothed  his  wrinkled 

front, 

And  now,  instead  of  mounting  barbed  steeds 
To  fright  the  souls  of  fearful  adversaries, 
He  capers  nimbly  in  a  lady's  chamber, 
To  the  lascivious  (pleasing  of  a  lute." 

Fancy  that  poor  rodent's  astonish- 
ment when  the  proof  came  with  that  take 
in  blank  verse  and  not  an  error! 

He  never  spoke  to  me  again,  knowing 
that  I  despised  him ;  but  his  eyes  haunted 
me  for  weeks  like  a  board  bill.  When- 
ever I  was  working  and  he  waiting  for 
copy,  I  never  turned  without  catching 
him  gazing  at  me  intently,  as  if  I  were 
a  being  of  supernatural  powers;  and  I 
surmise  the  ease  with  which  I  disposed 
of  the  manuscript  and  took  his  dollar  was 
a  mystery  that  he  never  solved  or  forgot. 


182 


Savannah  Just  After  the  War. 


An  all-around  printer,  and  a  good  one, 
early  in  1866  I  was  a  new  arrival  at  Sa- 
vannah, Georgia,  from  New  York  City. 

Savannah  then  had  three  dailies — the 
Republican,  Njews  and  Advertiser.  I  be- 
gan subbing  on  the  News,  and  had  in 
several  strings,  when  a  committee  from 
the  Republican  chapel  called  on  me.  A 
serious  business  requiring  iniimediate  ad- 
justment had  arisen  between  the  chapel 
and  proprietor,  and  trouble  was  feared. 
New  ibody-type  had  been  put  on,  "min- 
ionette,"  alleged  to  be  "minion,"  but  it 
was  four  lines  to  the  thousand  less  than 
minion  and  way  under  the  scale.  The 
boys  were  home-made  ((Georgia  "crack- 
ers"), and,  it  being  just  after  the  war, 
knew  more  about  filling  "Yanks"  with 
old  type-metal  than  firing  type  at  a  gal- 
ley; but  it  needed  no  wise  guy  from  New 
York  to  tell  them  they  were  being  hand- 
ed something  awtful.  What  they  wanted 
to  know  was  what  to  do,  as  in  such  cases 
m^de  and  provided.  They  having  passed 
it  up  to  me,  after  careful  measurements 
I  suggested  that  if  they  would  make  up 
a  scale  nonpareil  one  way  and  minion  the 
other  it  would  'be  about  the  thing. 

183 


HANDSET    REMINISCENCES 

This  plan  worked,  to  the  disgust  of  an 
"old  spav"  in  the  front  office,  who  had 
been  allowed  to  order  the  new  dress  upon 
representing  to  the  proprietor  that  he 
could  save  him  some  money.  The  pro- 
prietor was  not  a  practical  printer  or  he 
would  have  known  better. 

Foreman  Henry  Middleton  was  in 
tribulation  that  day.  The  Johnny  who 
held  the  ship-news  case  had  thrown  up 
his  job,  saying  it  was  "too  hard,"  and  for 
the  same  reason  no  one  around  the  of- 
fice would  have  it.  Plain  reprint-pound- 
ers were,  those  early-day  "crackers."  Mr. 
Middleton  put  me  on  the  cases  for  that 
night,  but  the  next  day  told  me  to  keep 
them,  and  told  me  to  use  my  own  judg- 
ment as  to  style,  so  the  department 
would  be  reasonably  fat.  Thenceforth 
12,000' was  an  average  string  for  the  un- 
dersigned. 

The  Republican  was  owned  by  John 
E.  Hayes,  no  doubt  remembered  by  relics 
of  the  last  generation  as  the  intrepid  war 
correspondent  of  the  New  York  Tribune. 
At  the  front  he  was  a  tireless  worker, 
and  a  wonder  as  a  reporter,  giving  the 
most  brilliant,  complete  and  accurate  ac- 
counts of  battles,  skirmishes  and  army 
movements ;  and,  by  sending  them  North 
by  the  first  courier  leaving  headquarters 
with  dispatches,  he  enabled  the  Tribune 

184 


SAVANNAH  JUST  AFTER  THE  WAR 

to  scoop  all  competitors.  People  won- 
dered how  the  Tribune  managed  to  print 
the  news  one  day  ahead. 

Hayes  was  solid  with  the  generals 
and  corps  commanders,  because  he  drew 
the  line  on  strategical  movements  and 
they  could  trust  him.  This  virtue  made 
'him  a  great  favorite,  with  General  Sher- 
man, with  whom  he  marched  through 
Georgia,  and  whose  tent  he  is  said  to 
have  often  shared. 

When  Savannah  capitulated  he  was 
one  of  the  first  to  enter  its  lines,  and  in 
a  few  weeks  was  handing  to  its  unrepent- 
ant citizens  a  first-class,  red-hot  Repub- 
lican daily.  This  was  made  possible  by 
his  finding  and  the  confiscation  of  a  com- 
plete rebel  newspaper  plant  that  had  been 
stored  away  early  in  the  war,  when  news- 
print ran  short.  General  Sherman  turned 
the  plant  over  to  Hayes,  who  went  North 
and  succeeded  in  digging  up  a  prominent 
politician  with  money  and  an  eye  on  a 
Georgia  senatorship  or  something  like 
that.  While  most  of  the  people  were 
still  sullen,  rebellious  at  heart,  and  not 
in  need  of  Yankee  papers,  the  city's  busi- 
ness interests,  stimulated  by  Northern 
capital,  were  rapidly  reviving  and  af- 
forded commercial  patronage  that  went 
far  toward  paying  the  Republican's  ex- 
penses. 

185 


HANDSET    REMINISCENCES 

•Mr.  Hayes,  being  an  irrepressible  se- 
cession hater,  lost  no  opportunity  to 
pump  hot  newspaper  shot  into  the  older 
rebels  who  were  instrumental  in  forcing 
Georgia  into  the  fight.  One  time  he 
got  more  than  he  sent,  as  the  sequel  will 
show. 

Just  before  hostilities  began  there 
were  $40,000  of  government  funds  in  the 
Savannah  postoffice,  and  the  postmaster, 
Solomon  by  name,  was  relieved  of  the 
cash  'by  a  band  of  guerrillas.  Solomon 
was  one  of  the,  most  prominent  and  re- 
spected of  Savannah's  citizens,  but  the 
Republican  got  after  him,  alleging  that 
he  had  connived  to  turn  the  trust  over  to 
the  confederacy.  Hayes  was  sued  for 
criminal  libel.  In  the  suit  that  followed 
it  was  proved  that  Solomon  had  repeated- 
ly warned  the  authorities  at  Washington 
that  the  funds  were  in  peril  and  asked 
to  be  relieved  of  the  responsibility.  The 
verdict  was  a  fine  of  $1,000  or  six  months' 
imprisonment.  Hayes  argued  that  the 
$1,000  would  be  easy  money  and  took  the 
six  months,  writing  his  editorials  from 
the  county  jail. 

One  night  he  sent  in  a  "must"  that 
made  a  column.  It  related  that  Professor 
Alexis,  a  noted  far-eastern  traveller,  was 
a  passenger  on  the  English  barque  Hindu, 
reported  in  the  shipping  lists  as  ar- 
ise 


SAVANNAH  JUST  AFTER  THE  WAR 

riving  that  day  with  a  cargo  of  silks 
from  Calcutta,  India ;  that  the  pro- 
fessor had  just  spent  several  years 
in  the  interior  of  India  and  Tibet, 
during  which  he  had  by  close  in- 
vestigation gained  an  insight  into  mys- 
teries and  occult  wonders  practiced  by 
the  mahatmas  and  fakirs;  that  among 
those  of  which  the  professor  had  prac- 
tical knowledge  was  power  to  suspend 
the  effect  of  flames  and  heat,  by  which, 
like  Shadrach,  Mleshach  and  Abednego  of 
old,  a  possessor  of  this  strange  secret  was 
enabled  to  pass  through  the  fiercest 
flames  unharmed ;  that  the  professor,  be- 
ing a  former  college  chum  and  intimate 
friend  of  the  editor,  had  been  induced  by 
Mr.  Hayes  to  postpone  his  intended  im- 
mediate departure  for  Washington,  and 
at  10  o'clock  on  the  following  day  would 
give  a  free  exhibition  of  this  miraculous 
power  in  the  city  park. 

Next  morning,  in  the  center  of  the 
park,  where  ground  had  just  been  broken 
for  the  site  of  a  public  building,  were 
piled  five  kerosene  barrels.  I  have  a  vivid 
recollection  of  this  fact,  for,  with  the  en- 
tire Republican  gang,  I  wanted  to  be 
shown,  and,  when  the  "jig  was  up,"  in- 
stead of  going  to  bed  I  had  stayed  up  to 
see  the  sight.  We  marched  to  the  park 
together,  and  had  an  excellent  view  of 

187 


HANDSET    REMINISCENCES 

the  barrels.  Many  people  had  arrived, 
and  by  10  o'clock  nearly  every  inhabitant 
except  the  halt  and  the  blind  was  leaning 
on  the  fence  or  reclining  on  the  green 
sward. 

Overlooking  the  park  was  the  county 
jail,  and  the  editor's  cell  window.  Seated 
at  a  table,  he  was  apparently  preparing 
copy,  occasionally  glancing  at  the  crowd 
in  an  abstracted  manner.  The  crowd 
viewed  the  formidable  display  of  barrels 
in  silence,  no  doubt  awed  by  thoughts  of 
the  wonder  about  to  happen.  Darkies 
in  droves  looked  on,  wild-eyed,  with  a 
rabbit's  foot  in  each  hand. 

But  as  10  o'clock  went  by,  and  minute 
after  minute  elapsed  with  no  sign  of  the 
professor,  the  crowd  began  to  be  rest- 
less. At  about  10:30,  a  lank-looking 
Johnny  slouched  over  to  the  center  of 
attraction  and  gave  one  of  the  casks  a 
kick.  It  was  empty ! 

For  a  minute  everybody  stopped 
breathing.  Then  the  Johnny  mounted 
the  barrel  and  shouted : 

"Mr.  Mayor,  suh,  I  reckon  this  heah 
crowd  has  been  fooled  good  and  plenty. 
This  bein'  the  1st  of  April,  when  we-all 
can  stand  a  little  fun,  I  move  you,  suh, 
that  we  give  three  cheers  for  John  E. 
Hayes."  And  say,  those  cheers  were 
given  with  a  hearty  good  will  and  a  tiger. 

188 


SAVANNAH  JUST  AFTER   THE  WAR 

The  incident  proved  a  capital  adver- 
tisement for  the  Republican.  From  that 
day  the  editor  had  the  passive  good  will 
at  least  of  many  natives  to  the  manor 
\born  who  before  had  hated  him.  Upon 
his  release  he  went  north  for  a  respite, 
and  incidentally  to  mend  his  finances. 

Knowing  that  Mr.  Hayes  was  hard 
pushed,  and  that  his  employees  held  him 
in  high  regard,  as  the  holidays  came  on 
the  Republican  manager  suggested  that, 
unknown  to  the  editor,  we  get  up  a  Christ- 
man  edition  (newspapers  were  not  pub- 
lished then  on  holidays)  and  turn  the 
net  proceeds  over  to  him  as  an  expression 
of  our  good  will. 

The  scheme  started  in  like  a  charm, 
and,  so  far  as  patronage  was  concerned, 
columns  and  columns  of  'juicy  advertis- 
ing were  secured  in  a  day.  Then  we  all 
worked  overtime  and,  at  the  end  of  a 
week,  on  Christmas  Eve,  had  all  but  the 
last  pages  printed  of  an  edition,  good 
at  least,  for  the  price  of  the  editor's  fine. 
Then  there  came  a  crash.  The  last 
forms  were  being  sent  down  when,  just 
as  they  were  put  into  the  slide,  the  hoist 
rope  broke  and  the  next  instant  they 
were  in  the  basement,  a  fearful  mass 
of  pi. 

The  situation  was  hopeless.  The  pied 
matter  included  the  front  page  and  most 

189 


HANDSET    REMINISCENCES 

of  the  solid  reading.  With  copy  de- 
stroyed and  everybody  "all  in,"  the  pages 
could  not  be  reproduced. 

On  Christmas  Day  there  was  a  discov- 
ery that  would  make,  good  stuff  for  "the 
denouement"  of  a  novel.  The  sliderope 
being  a  new  one,  Mir.  Mjiddleton  was  at 
a  loss  to  conceive  how  it  could  possibly 
have  parted.  Curiosity  led  him  to  ex- 
amine the  supposed  'broken  ends,  and  the 
mystery  was  solved.  The  rope  had  been 
nearly  severed  with  a  sharp  knife. 

The  old  spav  in  the  front  office  had 
opposed  this  enterprise  from  the  begin- 
ning, and  done  everything  he  could  to 
throw  it.  He  was  a  dyed-in-the-wool 
"secesh"  and  hated  Mr.  Hayes.  Also,  as 
it  proved,  he  was  a  past  master  in  mak- 
ing a  get-away,  for  after  that  dreadful 
Christmas  he  was  never  seen  in  Savan- 
nah again. 


A  Tourist's  Strike. 


Many  old  handsets,  of  the  Northern 
states  and  Canada  at  least,  remember 
when  the  Detroit  Free  Press  went  into 
the  union  junk  heajp' — about  1868 — the 
result  of  a  strike  that,  as  I  have  always 
believed,  with  a  little  diplomacy  might 
have  been  avoided. 

Just  returned  from  the  west,  I  caught 
on  at  the  Free  Press  and  threw  in  cases 
the  very  day  of  the  walkout.  Several 
times  while  distributing  I  noticed  knots 
of  the  boys  in  earnest  conversation,  but 
had  no  idea  of  what  was  up.  To  this 
day  I  do  not  know  the  real  inside  of  the 
differences  that  were  breeding  trouble; 
they  had  to  do  with  small  "fats"  that 
belonged  to  the  dead  galley  and  were 
being  lifted  by  the  office. 

It  was  nearly  time  that  night — 7 
o'clock — when  I  rolled  my  sleeves.  Not 
a  light  had  been  turned  on,  and  as  no 
one  was  present  but  a  man  at  the  stone 
I  asked  him  what  was  the  matter: 

"I  don't  know  yet,"  he  replied,  "but 
believe  the  printers  have  struck.  They 
have  had  conferences  with  the  proprie- 
tors, and  there  was  a  special-  union  meet- 
ing this  afternoon/' 

191 


HANDSET    REMINISCENCES 

"This  is  news  to  me.  I  got  in  from 
the  west  last  night.  It's  funny  some  one 
did  not  have  the  courtesy  to  tell  me 
something  about  it.  My  place  was  at 
the  meeting.  Aren't  you  a  member?" 

"Yes."  (It  was  Eugene  Harmon, 
•brother  of  John  Harmon,  the  foreman.) 

"How  comes  it,  then,  that  you  are 
here?" 

"The — the — fact  is,  I  think  the  boys 
are  making  a  serious  fuss  about  a  small 
matter.  They  have,  made  Manager 
Quimiby  very  angry.  I  am  not  in  sym- 
pathy with  them." 

"But  a  straight  man  has  no  right  to 
set  up  an  opinion  against  the  will  of  the 
majority." 

"Well,  I'm  here,  you'll  notice,  and  am 
going  to  stay  with  it  if  I  have  to  get 
the  paper  out  alone." 

"Are  you  the.  foreman?" 
"My     brother     is — or     was — and     I've 
been   his  assistant." 

I  reached  for  my  coat. 

"Say,  I'll  tell  you  how  it  is,"  he  said. 
"I'm  in  the  manager's  confidence.  If 
the  boys  have  gone  out  they'll  never  get 
'back.  There  are  in  waiting  across  the 
river  about  twenty  Canadian  typestick- 
ers,  and  we  know  of  fifty  more,  east  and 
west,  to  be  had  within  twenty-four  hours 
— enough  to  flood  the  city.  I  put  John 

112 


A    TOURIST'S    STRIKE 

wise,  but  he  wouldn't  listen.  You'd  bet- 
ter set  out  those  cases  you  filled,  and  can 
keep  them." 

"And  you  don't  know  anything  about 
me — whether  I'm  a  printer  or  a  black- 
smith. I'm  not  on  the  lookout  for  a 
proposition  of  that  kind,  from  a  man  who 
would  sneak  his  own  brother  out  of  a 
job." 

He  never  seemed  to  like  me  after 
that,  for  whenever  I  met  him  on  the 
street  something  caught  his  attention 
across  the  way.  I  might  have  been  less 
personal  if  he  had  not  looked  the  under- 
handed little  cur  that  he  was. 

At  the  bottom  of  the  stairs  there  were 
at  least  a  dozen  printers,  all  with  skates 
on  and  all  talking  at  once.  One  in- 
sultingly wanted  to  know  if  I  had  "taken 
a  situation,"  and  another  who  knew!  me 
knocked  him  down.  I  learned  that  by 
a  close  vote  a  strike  had  been  declared ; 
that  the  Tribune  force  was  also  out,  more 
in  sympathy  than  'because  of  any  serious 
grievance  in  that  office,  and  that  the 
union  'had  upwards  of  $2,500  in  its  treas- 
ury. Two  or  three  of  the  crowd  were 
in  fighting  trim  and  shouting,  "We'll 
make  'em  come  to  time  if  it  takes  a 
year." 

The  remark  of  Eugene  Harmon  was 
prophetic.  For  many  years  after  the 

193 


HANDSET    REMINISCENCES 

Free  Press  composing  room  was  unfair, 
and  for  aught  I  know  is  to  this  day. 

Next  morning  I  took  an  early  train 
for  Oxford,  fifty  miles  up  the  state,  re- 
maining there  several  days.  On  return- 
ing— would  you  believe  it? — besides  the 
Free  Press  being  fully  manned  by  out- 
siders, the  Tribune  was  running  full 
blast,  with  a  force  made  up  of  strikers 
from  both  offices.  The  cases  were  not 
only  all  represented,  but  there  were 
fifteen  or  twenty  men  standing  around 
to  be  put  on ! 

Among  those  at  work  was  the  one 
who  insulted  me,  with  a  cheek  slightly 
contused. 

I  took  a  turn  around,  and  noticed  that 
most  of  the  men  who  had  talked  war  and 
were  going  to  die  in  the,  last  ditch  had 
their  noses  in  the  spacebox.  M'any  of 
those  looking  on  were  men  with  families, 
among  the  best  in  the,  union,  who  had 
held  cases  in  one  office  or  the  other  for 
years.  One  told  me  he  thought  the 
grievance  had  been  trivial,  and  was  very 
much  opposed  to  extreme  measures ;  that 
the  vote  wlas  carried  by  agitators  who 
had  been  in  the  city  but  a  short  time, 
and  strange,  as  it  might  seem,  nearly  all 
the  big  orators  were  now  at  work. 

It  was  me  that  about  that  time  had 
on  a  big  disgust. 

194 


A    TOURIST'S    STRIKE 

I  was  well  acquainted  with  some  of 
the  old  Detroit  boys,  having  worked 
there.  One  singled  me  out  and  asked  me 
to  go  on.  Though  conditions  did  not 
look  good  I  was  needing  money.  Going 
to  the  cases  with  a  handful,  the  first 
thing  attracting  my  attention  was  a  pla- 
card, hanging  from  the  gaspipe,  bearing 
in  bold  type  this  legend : 

"Hereafter,  any  regular  of  this  composing 
room  employing  a  union  printer  as  a  substi- 
tute will  be  peremptorily  discharged." 

I  hadn't  thrown  in  a  line,  and  didn't. 
Putting  the  type  on  the  stone  I  said  to 
Mjr.  Van  Buren,  the  foreman,  with  whom 
I  was  well  acquainted,  "'My  regular  is 
gone  and  his  cases  are  vacant.  I  can't 
work  under  that  card  over  there." 

"Say,  on  the  side,  never  you  mind 
that  thing.  We  had  to  put  up  the  notice 
to  pacify  the  manager.  He  was  due,  to 
make  some  sort  of  'bluff;  I  think  within 
a  wieek  the  cards  will  disappear.  I 
haven't  given  out  all  the  cases,"  and  he 
gave  me  a  significant  look. 

"Have  those  fellows  who  carried  this 
strike  renounced  the  union?" 

"Ostensibly,  yes ;  but  you  know  how 
that  goes.  When  matters  cool  down  ev- 
erything will  be  pretty  much  as  before." 

"But  did  you  give  them  cases?" 

195 


HANDSET    REMINISCENCES 

"Yes ;  that  is,  between  you  and  I  there 
was  a  pressure  brought  to  bear." 

"In  other  words,  they  precipitated  the 
strike  as  I  was  given  to  understand,  and 
then  crawled  in  out  of  the  wet?" 

"But,  you  understand,  they  won't  last 
long;"  and  he  closed  an  eye. 

"Excuse  me.  I  knew  nothing  what- 
ever about  this  trouble,  and  am  yet  ig- 
norant of  the  real  facts;  but  it  looks  like 
there  are  a  lot  of  printers  here  w'ho  need 
guardians.  They  must  have  meant  all 
right,  and  done  what  they  thought  was 
for  the  best,  so  I  don't  want  to  criticize 
or  want  one  of  their  jobs.  Under  the 
circumstances  I  might  stand  for  that 
card  a  while,  as  you  say;  but  when  it 
comes  to  working  with  those  two-edged 
fellows,  I  don't  have  to." 

A  week  later  I  was  in  St.  Louis,  eat- 
ing at  Jim  Hurley's  printers'  joint  and 
subbing  on  the  Times  under  that  grand 
old  man,  Phil  Coghlan. 

The  'first  night  after  my  arrival  in  St. 
Louis — September  4,  1868 — there  were 
sixty  deaths  from  cholera  in  the  city. 
The  morgue,  was  in  St.  Charles  street, 
opposite  Hurley's.  To  and  from  it 
throughout  the  night  heavy  carts  were 
rattling  over  the  rough  cobbled  pave- 
ment. I  did  not  know  the  cause  until 

196 


A    TOURIST'S    STRIKE 

next  morning;  -but  dreamed  of  being  a 
looker-on  at  the  massacre  of  St.  Barthol- 
omew and  of  tumbrils  carrying  victims 
to  the  guillotine.  A  frost  came  next 
night,  and  four  days  later  there  was  not 
a  single  new  case  of  the  disease. 


19? 


Four  Years  in  Gehenna. 


This  story  relates  a  series  of  happen- 
ings that  landed  me  in  an  ugly  slough, 
from  which  I  have  never  been  able  to 
fully  extricate  myself.  It  would  be  an 
interloper  in  a  strictly  jour  printer's  jour- 
nal, nevertheless  is  at  home  among  these 
reminiscences,  as  they  include  other 
events  occurring  while  I  was  in  the  pub- 
lishing business. 

During  1879  and  1880,  I  was  man- 
ager and  editor  for  a  printing  company 
at  Greenville,  Mich.  It  issued  a  small 
daily  and  a  country  weekly — "organ" — 
and  in  connection  there  was  a  good  steam 
job  office.  In  my  dual  capacity  I  was 
supposed  to  supervise  everything,  keep 
the  books  and  w^ite  a  few  columns  daily. 

Worn  out  and  ill,  early  in  1881  I  re- 
signed the  position  and  went  to  Colorado 
to  spend  a  summer  in  the  mountains. 

I  carried  a  letter  of  introduction  to 
the  late,  John  Arkins,  founder  and  pro- 
prietor of  the  Rocky  Mountain  News, 
from  an  old  Mississippi  chum  and  side 
partner  of  his.  It  at  once  gained  me  spe- 
cial consideration. 

198 


POUR   YEARS   IN   GEHENNA 

During  a  ride  around  Denver  with 
Mr.  Arkins  I  saw  much  of  the  city,  and 
he  asked  my  opinion  of  it.  I  had  not 
noticed  a  single  manufactory  or  other  en- 
terprise employing  a  permanent  "dinner- 
pail  squad,"  and  said  I  must  conclude 
that,  while  many  fine  buildings  were  be- 
ing constructed,  under  such  a  condition 
the  community  was  liable  to  ultimately 
eat  itself  up. 

"Yes,"  said  he,  "but  consider — 'Den- 
ver is  the  outfitting  point  for  Leadville, 
the  greatest  mining  district  in  the  world, 
foar  none,  and  also  for  many  minor  dis- 
tricts. Its  mercantile  and  machinery 
business  is  simply  marvellous;  while,  just 
outside  the  city  limits  are  great  smelters, 
employing  many  hundreds  of  men.  I 
make  this  prediction — within  five  years 
Denver  will  have  the  biggest  boom  the 
w'est  has  ever  seen.  If  you  have  any 
money  to  invest,  go  out  Broadway  and 
buy  acreage  property,  now  selling  at  $200 
an  acre.  I'll  guarantee  you  can  dispose 
of  it  as  city  lots  within  two  years.  Mean- 
time, go  into  the  mountains  and  take  a 
rest,  then  come  back  and  I'll  give  you  a 
job  at  clipping  state  news." 

Had  I  followed  this  advice  I  could  now 
be  clipping  coupons. 

199 


HANDSET    REMINISCENCES 

To  illustrate  what  followed  in  the 
boom  line,  this  instance  will  suffice.  A 
party  owned  a  property  on  Fifteenth 
street  that  he  tried  in  vain  to  sell  for 
$2,500.  Then  he  got  mad,  and  swore 
that  while  he  lived  money  would  not  buy 
it.  He  was  "kidding,"  for  within  five 
years  he  disposed  of  it  for  $50,000  in 
cash. 

Now  listen  to  what  was  in  store  for 
poor  miserable  me : 

I  went  to  the  mining  camp  of  Pitkin, 
in  the  Gunnison  country  of  Colorado. 
Pitkin  is  situated  on  Quartz  creek,  on 
the  western  slope  of  the  Rocky  moun- 
tains, nine  miles  below  Alpine  pass,  at 
9,300  feet  above  sea  level. 

I  paid  for  being  hauled  over  the  sum- 
mit— altitude  11,500  feet — in  a  lumber 
wagon  alleged  to  have  been  a  stage;  but 
as  the  road  had  not  been  improved  and 
was  paved  with  boulders  large  as  wagon 
wheels,  was  easily  induced  with  the  other 
passengers  to  walk  most  of  the  way. 

At  the  apex  of  the  summit  we  stopped 
to  drink  from  a  rivulet,  the  pure  ice.-cold 
water  of  which  divided  at  our  feet — a 
part  meandering  down  the  eastern  slope 
to  the  Arkansas  river  and  on  to  the  At- 
lantic ocean,  the.  rest  flowing  westward 
toward  the  Pacific.  On  the  summit  a 

200 


POUR   YEARS   IN   GEHENNA 

sublime  stillness  reigned.  It  would  have 
been  supreme  but  for  the  roar  of  the 
stage,  alleged  as  aforesaid,  jumping  from 
one  boulder  to  another. 

Among  the  passengers  was  old  Hank 
Williams,  once  quite  noted  as  an  Indian 
scout  at  Fort  Bridger,  at  this  time  a 
popular  Pitkin  hotel  keeper,  homing  from 
a  (business  trip.  Hank  was  of  under 
stature,  but  having  growii  fleshy  in  the 
inn  business  tipped  the  scales  at  225 
pounds.  I  shall  always  be  grateful  he 
was  not  seven  feet  high. 

Those  lofty  altitudes  get  a  fat  man's 
breath.  After  walking  awhile  Hank  fell 
>among  the  rocks,  gasping,  and  seemed 
about  to  ascend  instead  of  descend.  Vol- 
unteering assistance  with  another  light 
weight  like  myself,  wte  put  him  on  his 
pins,  and  humping  ourselves  under  his 
shoulders  forged  ahead  occasionally, 
while  the  rest  of  the  tenderfeet  went  on. 
It  was  a  snail's  journey  of  nearly  a  mile 
before  Hank  quit  rolling  his  eyes  and 
could  breathe  with  his  mouth  closed. 
(This  sketch  will  refer  to  him  again.) 

Thus  I  crossed  the  great  Alpine  pass 
into  the  Gunnison.  This  pass — after- 
wards traversed  by  the  South  Park  rail- 
road, is  about  twenty  miles  west  of  the 
celebrated  Marshall  pass,  which  was  the 

201 


HANDSET    REMINISCENCES 

route  of  the  Denver  and  Rio  Grande  rail- 
road for  years  before  its  broad  guage  line 
via  Leadville  was  built. 

The  Alpine  greatly  surpasses  Mar- 
shall pass  for  scenic  beauty — in  fact  there 
are  few  elevations  along  the  Rockies 
where  the  view  is  more  magnificient  as 
one  catches  his  first  glimpse  of  the  west- 
ern valley  far  beneath.  The,  South  Park 
train,  emerging  from  a  tunnel  1,800  feet 
in  length,  directly  passes  over  a  dizzy 
'construction  hundreds  of  feet  high,  then 
creeps  down  a  steep  grade  blasted  into 
the  granite  mountain  side,  twisting 
around  sharp  curves  that  often  swing  the 
engine  into  view  from  the  coach  win- 
dows. Along  the  bottom  of  the  great 
canyon  flows  Quartz  creek,  a  roaring  cat- 
aract, but  looking  from  the  summit  like  a 
tiny  ribbon  of  silver,  and  in  view  for 
many  miles.  To  the  right  is  MJt.  Fair- 
view,  elevation  13,500  feet,  while,  scat- 
tered in  the  distance,  right  and  left,  are 
scores  of  lesser  peaks,  some  far  to  the 
southwest  in  old  Mexico.  Long  before, 
in  the  Sierras,  I  had  had  all  hankering 
for  mountain  air  and  scenery  bumped  out 
of  me;  but  I  shall  never  forget  the  awe 
with  which  for  the  first  time  I  drank  in 
the  sublimity  of  this  Alpine  view. 
202 


FOUR   YEARS  IN   GEHENNA 

At  Pitkin,  in  the  evening  of  the  very 
day  of  my  arrival,  I  witnessed  a  moving 
display  that  was  grand  beyond  descrip- 
tion, fearful  as  it  was  grand  and  calcu- 
lated to  dull  recollection  of  the  nature 
wonders  just  passed. 

Along  the  creek  on  both  sides  are 
ridges  1,000  to  2,500  feet  in  height.  The 
fact  that  in  winter  the  sun  rises  at  10 
o'clock  and  sets  at  2  best  tells  how  Pit- 
kin  is  situated,  "in  a  deep  vale  shut  from 
the  rude  world  by  Alpine  hills." 

The  ridges  in  those  days  were,  cov- 
ered with  a  dense  growth  of  fir,  the  foli- 
age of  which  burns  like  fat  pine.  By  the 
creek  some  careless  camper  had  failed  to 
smother  the  fire  over  which  he  cooked 
his  evening  meal.  Fanned  by  a  stiff 
breeze,  it  spread  to  underbrush,  then  to 
the  fir  trees,  and  within  an  hour  thou- 
sands of  acres  of  forest  were  in  flames 
with  tongues  leaping  upwards  hundreds 
of  feet,  and  roaring  like  a  Niagara. 
Viewed  from  the  creek's  level  it  seemed 
more  awful  than  the  orthodox  hell  the 
parsons  used  to  tell  about. 

It  was  a  sight  to  hold  a  spectator 
transfixed,  though  few  of  the  citizens 
were  looking  on  open-mouthed.  They 
gathered  en  masse  as  near  the  creek  as 
heat  would  permit,  to  fight  fire  should 

203 


HANDSET    REMINISCENCES 

the  flames  leap  across.  However,  besides 
the  burning  of  a  couple  of  shacks  on  the 
east  side,  no  damage  to  the.  camp  re- 
sulted. 

The  wind  dying  down,  in  a  couple 
of  hours  the  fire  had  spent  its  force  and 
the  eastern  ridge  side,  bereft  of  its  em- 
erald beauty,  was  a  blackened,  smoulder- 
ing ruin. 

I  found  that  Mr.  Nathaniel  Slaght 
and  family  of  Greenville  had  preceded  me 
to  Pitkin  on  a  few  weeks  visit.  Mr. 
Slaght  was  president  of  the  Michigan 
Mining  and  Milling  company  of  Pitkin, 
and  owned  large  mining  interests.  By 
the  way,  he  was  also  president  of  the 
Greenville  Printing  company.  In  the 
piney  lumber  woods  of  Michigan  he  had 
made  more  money  than  he  needed,  and 
maybe  thought  there  was  no  better  way 
to  get  rid  of  the  surplus  than  by  dabbling 
in  mines  and  running  a  jim  crow  print 
shop.  Anyway,  with  that  object  in  view 
it  was  a  great  combination,  for  he  came 
to  want. 

There  were  two  ends  to  Pitkin — "up 
town"  and  "down  town" — with  a  dead 
line  between.  The  lower  end  was  pretty 
much  run  by  a  fraternity  of  jealous  min- 
ers, most  of  them  meaning  well  but  dom- 
inated by  designing  fanatics  eaten  by  the 

204 


FOUR   YEARS   IN   GEHENNA 

impression  that  they  were  always  being 
imposed  upon  or  slighted  by  sharpers  on 
the  other  side  of  the  dead  line.  Up  town 
a  coterie  of  bright,  influential  business 
men  were  prominent  in  local  affairs,  and 
usually  made  matters  pertaining  to  town 
organization  come  their  way. 

Up-town,  however,  were  a  number  of 
disagreeable  characters  that  I  soon 
learned  to  fight  shy  of.  One  was  Frank 
Sheafor,  owner  of  the  camp  paper — the 
Independent.  He  was  a  bad  actor.  Bred 
in  Kansas,  after  reading  many  yellow 
novels  he  yearned  to  go  to  the  far  west 
and  pose  as  a  sure-enough  "bad  man." 
He  was  of  the  proper  stuff ;  for  like  most 
characters  of  that  class,  when  put  to  the 
test  he  proved  himself  a  sneaking  coward 
— of  which  his  beady  black  eyes  set  too 
near  together  gave  warning.  I  learned 
that  when  he  came  to  the  camp  his  black 
'hair  flowed  down  his  back,  Buffalo  Bill 
style,  from  under  a  wide  sombrero,  and 
from  his  hip  pocket  protruded  a  formid- 
able gun;  and  a  long,  turned-up  mous- 
tache completed  his  ferocious  aspect. 

Tio  get  this  story  on  its  feet  I  must 
here  inject  some  stuff  that  may  prove 
wearisome. 

The  printing  office  was  located  up- 
town, and  the  editor  posed  as  an  up- 

205 


HANDSET    REMINISCENCES 

town  man,  though  secretly  standing  in 
with  the  lowier-town  gang.  As  the  paper 
was  habitually  booming  a  lot  of  worth- 
less mining  claims — no  doubt  for  pay — 
the  better  element  wanted  to  be  rid  of 
Sheafor.  Through  the  Greenville  push 
my  reputation  as  a  newspaper  man  had 
become  known,  and  so  it  presently  came 
about  that  I  was  being  urged  to  buy  him 
out.  Having  a  big  load  of  disgust  on  for 
the  business,  and  little  money,  I  stead- 
fastly declined  until  an  influence  was 
brought  to  bear  that  made  me,  fall  over 
myself  on  the  other  tack. 

It  was  this  way:  The  main  cause  of 
jealousy  at  this  time  was  a  fight  for  the 
railroad  depot  location.  Down-town  was 
ideal  level  ground  for  the.  yard — the  best 
in  camp.  The  up-town  influence,  how- 
ever, had  secretly  prevailed  on  the  South 
Park  company  to  accept  a  large  donated 
site.  It  was  within  a  hundred  yards  of 
the  Independent  office.  Also,  a  company 
had  been  quietly  formed  and  made  plans 
and  specifications  for  the  erection  of  a 
large  hotel  on  a  corner  lot  next  to  the 
printing  office,  and  would  need  the 
ground  on  which  it  stood. 

Here  was  a  chance  for  me  to  gather 
in  a  few  thousand  sheckels  that  summer, 
without  much  of  an  effort.  Then  Mr. 

206 


FOUR   YEARS  IN  GEHENNA 

Slaght  came  to  me  and  said:  "I  would 
like  to  have  you  buy  out  that  man  Shea- 
for,  for  my  good  as  well  as  your  own. 
We  are  going  to  make  a  lot  of  money 
here,  and  you  ought  to  be,  in  on  it.  As- 
suming that  after  your  late  troubles  (my 
home  had  been  desolated  by  death)  you 
may  be  short  of  funds,  I  will  draw  a 
check  in  your  favor  for  $3,000.  As  a 
matter  of  'business  you  may  give  me  a 
note  and  trust  deed;  but  if  things  don't 
come  your  way  I  will  tear  up  the  note." 
I  fell. 

Sheafor  came  off  for  a  round  price. 
Then  I  put  in  a  new  jobber,  the  freight 
on  which  was  more  than  its  cost,  a  paper 
cutter,  job  type,  etc.,  and  started  in  about 
$5,000  in  debt. 

Sheafor  agreed  to  keep  out  of  the 
business  for  two  years;  but  no  sooner 
was  the  deal  closed  than  he  went  to  Den- 
ver, bought  a  new  outfit,  and  using  a 
couple  of  his  near-eyed  cronies  as  al- 
leged publishers,  started  a  new  paper 
with  himself  as  editor  and  manager.  I 
then  learned  that  in  law  he  could  not 
sell  his  right  to  "work  and  earn  a  liveli- 
hood." 

The  first  business  stroke,  of  the  "ed- 
itor and  manager"  was  to  circulate  among 
the  lower-town  people  and  whisper  that 

207 


HANDSET    REMINISCENCES 

he  had  sold  the  Independent  to  the  "up- 
town gang" — that  I  was  a  mere  tool.  So 
I  got  orders  from  many  business  men 
to  cut  their  advertising  space  in  half,  as 
they  were  going  to  patronize  both  pa- 
pers; also,  most  of  the  down-town  sub- 
scribers switched. 

At  this  time  a  great  extension  race 
was  on  between  the  South  Park  and  Rio 
Grande  railroads,  from  the  continental  di- 
vide to  Gunnison  City  (county  seat),  dis- 
tance thirty-five  miles.  'Gunnison  was 
then  a  booming  city,  claiming  8,000  to 
10,000  population. 

The  lead  was  highly  important,  on 
account  of  pick  of  right-of-way  through 
narrow  places  in  the  valley.  The  South 
Park  was  safely  ahead,  until  it  began  to 
run  its  1,800-foot  tunnel.  Then  it  went 
to  sleep.  The  Rio  Grande  shot  ahead, 
and  soon  it  became  known  that  the,  South 
Park  had  suspended  work  until  the  fol- 
lowing year.  Pitkin  as  I  have  already 
stated  was  on  the  South  Park  route. 

It  was  about  July  1,  1882,  that  the 
first  engine  rolled  into  the  camp.  Mean- 
while, one-half  of  the  population  had  be- 
come discouraged  and  pulled  out.  The 
claims  had  proved  disappointing.  A  vast 
upheaval  in  the  remote  past  had  faulted 
the  mineral  veins.  This  being  demon- 

208 


FOUR   YEARS  IN  GEHENNA 

strated,  Pitkin  was  no  longer  talked 
about  as  "a  poor  man's  camp."  Many 
veins  were  rich,  but  uniformly  disap- 
peared at  fifty  to  seventy-five  feet  depth, 
so  capital  was  necessary  to  rediscover 
them. 

I  am  getting  a  little  ahead  of  one  of 
the  main  features  of  this  over-true  story 
— illustrating  as  it  does,  more  than  any 
other  circumstance  that  ever  came  un- 
der my  observation,  the.  extreme  ups  and 
downs  which  frequently  occur  in  the  pur- 
suit of  mining  as  a  business,  and  the 
childish  breaks  made  by  people  who  in- 
vest in  prospects  and  stocks  on  the  say- 
so  of  designing  sharks,  without  knowing 
the  difference,  between  pay  rock  and  a 
grindstone.  It  is  necessary  to  briefly 
give  these  details  as  they  had  much  to 
do  with  the  unmaking  of  yours  truly. 

The  Mfic'higan  company,  consisting  of 
Mr.  Slaght  and  some  of  his  Canadian 
relatives  and  friends,  owned  the  Silver 
Islet  and  other  claims  of  lesser  import- 
ance. About  1,200  feet  of  development 
work  had  been  done  on  the  great  low- 
grade  vein  of  the  Silver  Islet,  as  a  result 
of  which  it  had  become  quite  famous  as 
a  prospective  producer  of  great  wealth. 

A  California  syndicate  sent  an;  expert 
to  examine  the  property  with  the  view 

209 


HANDSET    REMINISCENCES 

of  purchasing  it.  He,  was  permitted  to 
spend  several  days  in  the  tunnels  and 
drifts,  and  ship  out  a  dozen  sacks  of  ore 
samples  for  testing. 

Mr.  Slaght's  special  business  in  the 
mountains  at  this  time  was  to  meet  rep- 
resentatives of  the  syndicate  and  arrange 
a  deal.  A  formal  offer  had  been  made  by 
letter  of  $650,000  for  the  property,  and 
Mr.  Slaght  very  sensibly  wanted  to  sell. 
But  he  had  also  received  a  fool  letter 
from  the  Canadian  contingent,  that 
proved  ruinous  to  them  all.  They  had 
carefully  and  prayerfully  considered  the 
offer,  and  decided  it  was  not  enough. 
Swelled  up  by  grossly  exaggerated  re- 
ports and  comments  in  the  Independent, 
also  reports  made  by  the  local  manager, 
they  had  become  seized  of  the  idea  that 
the  Silver  Islet  was  worth  at  least  a 
million,  and  objected  to  letting  it  go  for 
less. 

As  I  entered  the  manager's  office  one 
morning,  Mr.  Slaght  sat  there  with  the 
Canadian  letter  in  his  hand  and  laughing. 

"I'm  afraid  we're,  making  a  mistake," 
he  said,  "but  we'll  hold  it  for  their  price ; 
or  work  it  ourselves.  Not  one  of  those 
people  knowis  what  the  tenth  part  of  a 
million  means." 

210 


POUR   YEARS   IN  GEHENNA 

He  owned  three-fourths  of  the  stock, 
and  could  have  closed  the  deal,  making 
the  mistake  of  his  life  in  deferring  to  their 
wishes.    The  sale  or  success  of  the  Silver 
Islet    wiould    have    saved    kind,    Whole- 
hearted Mr.  Slaght  from  ultimate  bank- 
ruptcy, and  me,  indirectly,  from  the  hell 
that    followed.       Within    five    years    the 
Silver  Islet,  together  with  a  small  mill 
that  had  been  built  in  connection,  actu- 
ally sold  at  sheriff's  sale  for  $7,500,  and 
passed  out  of  the  hands  of  the  company. 
The  property  was  managed  by  an  old 
Baptist  parson  who,  after  forty  years  of 
sky  piloting  and  living  on  the  collection 
game,   was   sent   by   the  prayerful   Can- 
adians to  show  Pitkin  how  to  exploit  and 
run   a   mine.       His   plan   was   niggardly 
economy — which     soon    got     the    whole 
camp   down   on   him   and   the   company, 
and  he  was  "back  capped"  at  every  turn. 
With      a     forty-ton      mill      properly 
handled   the   company   could   have   soon 
been  paying  dividends;  but  the  parson, 
after  monkeying  around  a  year  to  save 
a  few  dollars,  started  up  a  second-hand 
plant  with  a  capacity  that  never  reached 
more  than  ten  tons  a  day.     It  cost  more 
than  a  new  one  of  proper  size  ought  to, 
and  more  to  run  it. 

211 


HANDSET    REMINISCENCES 

Mr.  Slaght  was  at  length  obliged  to 
shut  pan  on  his  private  funds,  following 
which  the  property  closed  down,  the  par- 
son went  home,  and  everything  that 
didn't  flatten  out  caved  in. 

Before  I  had  been  in  Pitkin  a  month 
a  sensational  incident  occurred — a  re- 
minder of  the  sort  of  justice  meted  out 
in  the  California  hills  and  along  the  far- 
western  frontiers  in  the  early  days.  I  am 
inclined  to  believe  it  was  the  best  way 
that  could  have  been  devised  in  the  wild 
and  woolly  times  to  hold  crime  in  check, 
though  in  many  cases  it  was  administered 
by  'blood-stained  criminals,  more  deserv- 
ing of  violence  than  their  victims,  and 
great  injustice  was  done. 

In  the  upper  section  of  Pitkin,  out- 
side of  the  towin  limits,  was  a  large  dance 
hall,  infested  by  painted  fairies  and 
toughs,  and  thronged  nightly  by  miners 
and  more  or  less  respectable  citizens  tak- 
ing in  the  "sights."  A  murder  had  been 
committed  there,  and  fights,  robberies 
and  holdups  were  of  frequent  occurrence. 

The  down-town  element,  albeit  having 
pretty  tough  joints  of  their  own — may  be 
to  ward  off  attention  from  their  own 
short-comings,  anyway  to  twist  the 
noses  of  upper-town  moralists — one  night 
made  a  raid!  on  the  den. 

212 


FOUR   YEARS   IN   GEHENNA 

A  mob  of  about  one  hundred,  headed 
by  my  esteemed  contemporary  with  a 
gun  in  each  hand  shooting  in  the  air, 
marched  up  the  main  street  and  a  gath- 
ering crowd  followed. 

In  the  exercises  ensuing  the  dance 
hall  proprietor  was  shot,  and  many  heads 
were  broken  and  noses  flattened.  A  can 
of  coal  oil  was  upset  in  the  building  and 
it  went  up  in  smoke. 

This  episode  reminded  me  of  the  early 
days'  vigilance  committee  of  San  Fran- 
cisco, partly  composed  as  it  was  of  des- 
perate characters  bent  on  perforating  the 
skins  of  other  desperadoes  to  save  their 
own.  The  biggest  cowards  were  the 
most  blatent  leaders  until  there  was 
something  doing.  Then,  like  my  es- 
teemed contemporary,  they  sneaked  to 
the  rear  where  they  could  look  on  with 
safety. 

Among  the  crowd  following  up  the 
Pitkin  "vigilantes"  was  my  foreman, 
James  Lamoreaux — one  of  the  assets 
turned  out  to  me  with  the  office.  I  had 
been  warned  to  keep  an  eye  on  Jim — 
that  he  was  secretly  standing  in  with 
Sheafor,  and  would  do  me  dirt.  My  good 
angel  was  guessing. 

Overhearing  a  couple  of  Sheafor's 
near-eyed  pals  talking  about  a  plan  to 

213 


HANDSET    REMINISCENCES 

squelch  the  "up-town  organ"  and  its  ed- 
itor when  the  mob  came  back,  Jim 
promptly  took  measures  to  forestall  any- 
thing of  that  kind.  Next  morning  the 
first  thing  that  attracted  my  attention 
was  a  stack  of  rifles  in  one  corner  of 
the  office.  Jim  had  called  together  a  lot 
of  up-town  boys,  who  during  the  night 
laid  concealed  within  gunshot.  As  I 
learned  afterwards,  when  half  a  dozen 
leaders  of  the  dance-hall  raid  on  their 
way  back  came  to  a  halt  near  the  office, 
and  were  busily  whispering,  Jim  walked 
up  to  them  and  said: 

"Will  you  fellows  take  the  advice  of  a 
friend?" 

"What  is  it,  Jim?" 

"Don't  undertake  to  do  up  the  Inde- 
pendent/' 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"No  use  of  being  mysterious — it's  all 
all  over  camp." 

"Well,  what  of  it?" 

"I  give  you  credit  for  better  sense 
than  to  make  such  a  d — d  fool  break ;  but 
if  you  do,  you'll  stir  up  something  you 
ain't  looking  for.  Keep  an  eye  on  Nob 
hill." 

(This  hill  was  the  "tony"  part  of 
camp,  and  overlooked  my  office.) 

The  advice  was  heeded. 

214 


POUR   YEARS   IN   GEHENNA 

Jim  Lameroux  was  a  character.  Me- 
dium-sized, gaunt,  quick  as  a  flash,  a 
bundle  of  muscle  and  a  stayer,  he  was  a 
born  fighter  any  style — fisticuffs  tieihg; 
his  strong  suit  though  he  was  known  to 
always  carry  a  gun.  He  seldom  quarrel- 
ed when  not  in  liquor — then  with  most 
any  tough  that  showed  up.  He  invari- 
ably downed  his  man,  would  pretty  near 
cry  if  he  did  not  give  him  a  pair  of  black 
eyes.  When  the  melee  was  over,  he 
would  ask  if  there  was  anybody  looking 
on  who  was  aching  for  the  same.  Nearly 
all  his  knuckles  were  enlarged  or  skewed, 
in  token  that  he  struck  from  the 
shoulder. 

Jim  was  a  bum  printer,  but  his  knowl- 
edge of  mining  and  minerals  was  valu- 
able to  me.  Within  a  week  after  I 
"moved  in"  he  was  my  solid  friend;  and 
though  he  came  near  licking  the  "old 
man"  once,  as  it  proved  I  never  had  a 
truer  friend. 

Nlext  morning  after  the  dance-house 
raid  I  dropped  into  A.  M.  Stevenson's 
law  office.  "Stevy,"  as  he  was  familiar- 
ly called,  was  a  nervy  young  fellow — es- 
pecially in  attempting  to  practice  law  at 
that  time  with  his  scant  knowledge  of 
it. 

215 


HANDSET    REMINISCENCES 

As  I  entered  he  was  loading  a  revol- 
ver. A  caller  asked: 

"What's  that  for,  Stevy?" 
*"*Tm  going  to  kill  Frank  Sheafor." 

"You  don't  mean  it." 

"Watch  me.  He  has  threatened  to 
do  me  up,  I  hear,  and  last  night  after 
the  fire  sneaked  up  the  trail  with  a  gun 
in  his  hand,  nearly  scaring  my  wife  into 
a  fit.  There  were  half-a-dozen  boys  in 
the  brush  near  by,  guarding  the  printing 
office,  and  it  was  lucky  for  him  that  he 
turned  and  sneaked  back.  I  don't  be- 
lieve any  court  would  'hold  me  for  rid- 
ding the  world  of  that  thing.  Anyway, 
I'm  going  to  chance  it." 

Without  another  word  Stevy  walked 
down  the  street,  and  was  within  twenty 
rods  of  the  new  office  when  Sheafor  came 
out  and  climbed  into  the  Gunnison  stage, 
on  his  way  to  Denver.  (There  had  been 
talk  of  arrest  and  trouble  for  the  ring- 
leaders of  the  raid.)  On  his  return  a 
week  later  the  ruffle  w'as  out  of  Stevy's 
feathers,  and  talk  of  prosecution  had 
quieted  down. 

The  county  election  of  1882  afforded 
Pitkin  a  little  relief  from  the  apathy  and 
gloom  that  was  closing  in  on  it,  follow- 
ing a  steady  decrease  in  population  and 
business.  Some  money  was  put  in  cir- 

216 


FOUR   YEARS   IN  GEHENNA 

culation  by  political  committees  and  can- 
didates. For  the  purposes  of  my  story,  I 
will  only  refer  to  the  contest  for  county 
judge. 

Ed.  C.  Colborn,  the  Republican  nom- 
inee, was  elected.  He  was  a  rather  dud- 
ish,  Johnny-come-lately  looking  chap 
about  shoulder-high  to  an  average  man, 
but  knew  enough  to  be  hale  fellow  well 
met  with  the  pick  and  shovel  contingent. 
While  he  could  make  a  pointed  speech, 
he  had  a  voice  thin  as  a  tape  line,  that 
shot  past  the  audience  and  out  through 
the  transom  without  attracting  much  at- 
tention. 

For  his  opponent  he  had  D.  T.  Sapp 
of  Pitkin,  a  former  Greenville  man  and 
Stevenson's  law  partner.  He  was  an  ex- 
cellent attorney,  as  Colborn  afterwards 
proved  himself  to  be. 

Mr.  Slaght  dropped  into  my  office  one 
day  and  said: 

"We  must  do  all  we  can  to  elect  our 
old  friend  and  'towney,'  Mr.  Sapp." 

"Yes ;  ibut  you  know,  I  can  do  no  more 
than  vote  for  him,"  I  replied.  "He's  on 
the  wrong  ticket.  The  paper  is  straight 
as  a  string  in  this  election." 

"Ah,  shucks!  In  this  God-forsaken 
country,  what  do  you  care?  Don't  go 
'back  on  your  best  friends  for  the  sake 

217 


HANDSET   REMINISCENCES 

of  politics.  For  special  and  legitimate 
reasons  I  want  Sapp  elected.  If  you 
will  help  him  all  you  can  with  the  paper 
I'll  cancel  $500  of  your  indebtedness  to 
me." 

In  gratitude  for  this  generosity  and 
kindness,  I  wrote  an  editorial  and 
quietly  submitted  it  to  Sapp  for  his  ap- 
proval. It  said  many  things  in  his  favor, 
but  underneath  was  distinctly  a  vein  of 
equivocation,  much  more  apparent,  as  it 
proved,  than  was  intended.  He  was  a 
comparative  stranger  in  the  county.  The 
article  described  him  as  a  man  of  energy 
and  action  in  the  right  direction,  but 
unfortunately  of  manner  so  reserved  and 
peculiar  as  to  convey  the  impression  that 
he  estimated  himself  rather  above  the 
common  run  of  people — which  was 
strictly  true. 

This  comment  made  him  wince  but 
he  said  he  felt  that  it  was  deserved  and 
fair;  that  the  matter  as  a  whole  was  ex- 
cellent, and  thanked  me.  Later  in  the 
campaign  he  said: 

"Mir.  Graham,  I'm  sorry  that  d — d 
stuff  was  printed.  Wherever  throughout 
the  county  I  have  mingled  with  crowds 
of  miners  and  working  men  I  have  dis- 
tinctly felt  it.  Its  influence  crept  over 
me  like  a  chill." 

218 


FOUR   YEARS   IN  GEHENNA 

If  there  is  any  person  an  intelligent 
miner  cannot  abide  it  is  a  man  in  a  boiled 
shirt  who  looks  contemptuously  at  a  fel- 
low mortal  whose  calling  compels  him  to 
take  his  life  in  his  hands  and  go  down 
into  the  earth  to  toil.  Miost  miners  are 
well  read,  many  educated.  They  have 
reason  to  know  that  their  practical 
knowledge  of  minerals  and  rocks  often 
proves  more  valuable  than  the  theories 
and  opinions  of  book-learned  geologists. 

My  unfortunate  comments  may  have 
turned  from  my  old  friend  a  hundred 
votes.  Colborn's  majority  was  forty- 
nine,  and  he  was  the  only  Republican 
candidate  elected. 

A  few  months  ago,  on  one  of  Salt 
Lake's  streets,  Judge  Colborn  was  stand- 
ing at  the  curb,  talking  to  a  young  gentle- 
man. As  I  approached  them  he  said: 

"My  son,  I  want  you  to  know  my  old 
friend,  J.  B.  Graham.  Thirty-years  ago 
he  wrote,  an  editorial  that  elected  me 
judge  of  Gunnison  county." 

That  meeting  gave  me  a  jolt,  such  a 
reminder  it  was  of  the  flight  of  time.  I 
had  never  seen  young  Colborn,  now  a 
prosperous  business  man,  born  five  years 
after  the  defeat  of  Sapp. 

In  the  spring  of  1883  Pitkin  had 
dwindled  to  less  than  half  its  size  of  two 

219 


HANDSET    REMINISCENCES 

years  before,  and  disgusted  others  were 
pulling  out  almost  daily.  It  had  little 
ore  to  ship,  and  there  were  few  pay  rolls. 
The  freighters  had  disappeared,  and 
nearly  every  dollar  in  circulation  sooner 
or  later  found  its  way  to  the  railroad 
freight  hopper,  never1  to  come  back.  The 
only  resources  were  funds  sent  in  for 
mining  assessment  labor  and  the  occa- 
sional sale  of  a  mineral  prospect  to  some 
outsider. 

Speaking  of  newspaper  mining  re- 
ports, which  in  camp  booming  times  have 
perhaps  more  than  any  other  influence 
been  the  cause  of  wealthy  men  losing 
their  heads  and  poor  people  being  parted 
from  their  hard-earned  money,  I  have 
had  many  compliments  paid  me  for  the 
conservativeness  with  which  my  mining 
news  was  prepared.  Here  is  a  case  in 
point: 

'Early  in  1883'  a  company  composed  of 
successful  Black  Hawk  (Gilpin  county, 
Colo.)  miners  sent  an  expert  to  examine 
a  Pitkin  claim  that  was  located  the  first 
of  the  year,  and  which  had  been  regu- 
larly mentioned  in  the  papers  as  making 
a  great  showing  and  improving  as  depth 
was  gained.  I  took  pains  to  visit  the 
ground  often,  wading  in  snow  shoulder 
deep  rather  than  trusting  to  current 


FOUR   YEARS   IN  GEHENNA 

rumors.  It  belonged  to  the  down-town 
push,  and  Sheafor  of  course  was  booming 
it  with  black  type. 

The  Black  Hawk  company  found  ev- 
erything better  than  the  Independent  had 
represented,  closed  a  deal,  and  sunk  a 
shaft  to  100  feet  depth.  Then  they  made 
the  fatal  mistake  of  shipping  in  a  mill — 
trusting  to  chances  as  to  what  was  un- 
derneath. As  it  proved,  not  ten  feet  be- 
low the  100-leve.l  the  shaft  went  into 
broken  and  barren  rock. 

Otne  day  along  in  the  summer  the 
manager  came  to  my  office.  Said  he: 
"We  have  abandoned  our  property  here 
and  are  starting  today  to  move  out  the 
mill.  I  have  taken  pains  to  call  on  you 
to  say  that  while  we  wtere  first  attracted 
here  by  your  reports,  and  have  sunk 
thousands  of  dollars,  we  are  far  from 
blaming  you.  All  your  statements  were 
correct.  We.  were  over-enthusiastic,  and 
made  the  fool  mistake  of  putting  a  mill 
on  undeveloped  ground.  Wiseacres  now 
say  it  is  a  gash  vein.  I  contend  not. 
There  is  a  big  fault,  and  I  believe  that  by 
drifting  north  and  east  we.  might  recover 
a  true  fissure;  but  that  would  soon  run 
us  out  of  our  ground.  I  am  disgusted, 
and  will  take  no  further  chances." 
221 


HANDSET    REMINISCENCES 

In  after  years  his  theory  as  to  the 
faulting  proved  correct. 

I  speak  of  the  failure  of  this  enter- 
prise particularly  as  it  was  typical  of 
what  happened  to  others,  lured  by  some 
of  the  best  of  the  Pitkin  surface  show- 
ings of  that  day. 

The  locating  of  the  Black  Hawk 
property  is  worth  telling,  as  it  came,  very 
near,  resulting  in  a  tragedy.  It  was  orig- 
inally staked]  as  the  Black  Prince  loca- 
tion, and  sold  to  eastern  parties.  Failure 
of  so  many  claims  in  the  district  to  make 
good  caused  the  owners  to  be  neglectful, 
and  they  having  overlooked  the  assess- 
ment work  in  1882,  on  the  1st  of  Janu- 
ary, 1883,  according  to  law  the  Black 
Prince  was  "jumpable." 

Many  miners  knew  of  the  fact,  and 
as  the  ground  was  very  promising,  it 
was  not  strange  that  two  parties  of  half- 
a-dozen  each  secretly  planned  to  be  on 
the  location  at  exactly  low  12  New  Year's 
eve  and  take  possession. 

They  approached  the  spot  noiselessly, 
by  trails  on  opposite  sides  of  the  hill,  and 
hid  in  adjacent  brush.  On  "the  prick  of 
12"  the  two  parties  jumped  into  the  open 
simultaneously.  Several  rifles  glistened 
in  the  bright  moonlight  and  that  blood 

222 


FOUR   YEARS   IN   GEHENNA 

did  not  flow  was  only  due.  to  the  leaders 
recognizing  each  other. 

"Hello,  Bill,  what  are  you  geezers  a 
doin'  here,  this  time  o'night?" 

"Since  you  have  mentioned  the  sub- 
ject, Sluffky,  we'd  like  to  know  what  the 
h — 11  you  geezers  are  here  fer." 

"Well,  I  reckon  since  we're  all  good 
friends  there  ain't  no  use  of  us  bein'  mys- 
terious. Let's  have  a  talk." 

After  some  discussion  they  con- 
cluded to  divide  the  Black  Prince,  each 
party  taking  half  a  claim.  One-half  of 
the  claim  was  then  named  the  "Mid- 
night," the  other  the  "Mbonlight,"  and  it 
was  the  Midnight  and  Moonlight  that 
three  months  later  caught  the  Black 
Hawk  crowd. 

4     4 

The  spring  of  1884  had  the  gloomist, 
most  hopeless  outlook  of  all  seasons  in 
my  experience.  Not  only  was  it  dark  for 
myself — about  everyone  remaining  in  Pit- 
kin  had  the  blues.  But  two  or  three  busi- 
ness men  held  their  own — many  had 
gone  broke.  The  winter  had  been  un- 
usually cold  and  stormy,  accentuating  the 
general  deadness.  Not  more  than  500 
people  were  left,  and  there  was  no  work. 
Drummers  had  learned  to  give  the  sta- 

223 


HANDSET    REMINISCENCES 

tion  the  go-by,  and  only  now  and  then  a 
lone  passenger  stepped  from  a  train. 

Dreadful  snowslides  were  frequent; 
many  trails  were  too  dangerous  to  be 
risked.  One  slide  a  short  distance  above 
camp  swept  away  a  South  Park  section 
house,  killing  thirteen  of  its  seventeen  oc- 
cupants. Stories  of  the  dreadful  suffer- 
ing of  a  rescue  party  that  had  to  break 
trail  in  several  feet  of  snow,  while  the 
mercury  marked  40  degrees  below,  were 
as  nothing  compared  with  a  sight  of  the 
twelve  frozen  bodies  they  brought  back 
and  laid  side  by  side  on  the.  counter  of  a 
vacant  store.  Of  the  rescued  two  were 
women,  unharmed — one,  the  mother  of 
seven  sons,  all  section  men,  all  killed  by 
the  slide. 

When  April  came,  snow  lay  on  the 
main  street  to  the  depth  of  seven  feet  on 
the  level,  and  there  was  not  the  track  of 
a  team  nor  had  there  been  all  winter. 
Here  and  there  were  beaten  trails  from 
one  sidewalk  across  to  the  other.  They 
were  breast  high,  so  that  a  person  pass- 
ing on  the  opposite  walk  could  barely  be 
seen,  as  through  a  trench. 

Occasionally  there  was  something  do- 
ing socially,  in  the  way  of  card  parties 
and  dances,  and  even  a  wedding  now  and 
then.  A  masquerade  ball  was  given  for 

224 


POUR   YEARS  IN   GEHENNA 

the  one  parson  in  camp,  who  had  mighty 
lean  picking.  Probably  the  best  ad  it 
got  was  this  squib,  appearing  in  the  Inde- 
pendent : 

"Anent  the  coming  masquerade,  here  is 
a  hint  for  our  esteemed  contemporary,  sug- 
gested by  his  beady,  reptilian  lamps.  All 
he  has  to  do  to  win  first  prize  is  to  put  on 
a  hood  and  go  in  as  a  cobra." 

The  item  caused  some  talk,  but  did  not 
bring  the  dose  of  lead  I  was  yearning  for 
as  a  cure  for  depressed  spirits." 

With  almost  daily  storms,  and  on  a 
diet  principally  of  sowbelly  and  beans 
that  had  prevailed  for  several  hundred 
meals,  1  failed  to  get  a  glimpse  of  any- 
thing cheerful  in  the  environments.  Be- 
sides, the  altitude  had  affected  me  so  I 
could  not  sleep.  It  was  just  awful. 

I  turned  the  Independent  over  to  a 
printer,  and  in  a  state  of  nervous  pros- 
tration, with  a  railroad  pass  and  the  price 
of  a  week's  feed,  went  to  Denver  for  a 
month's  layoff. 

One  of  the,  first  men  I  met  there  was 
former  Senator  H.  A.  W.  Tabor,  famous 
in  the  history  of  the  early  days  of  Lead- 
ville.  He  invited  me  to  his  office  and 
asked : 

225 


HANDSET    REMINISCENCES 

"Just  in  from  Pitkin?" 

"Yes/' 

"Reports  say  the  Gunnison  country  is 
fearfully  dead — nothing  but  sagebrush 
and  jackrabbits  there.  What  do  the 
people  live  on?" 

"Beans  and  hardtack  are  pretty  good." 

"Any  mining  at  all?" 

"About  the  only  dirt  thrown  is  when 
we  dig  a  grave." 

"Plenty  of  snow?" 

"Yesterday  morning  it  laid  a  foot  high- 
er than  my  windows." 

"How  long  will  you  stay  with  us?" 

"A  month,  if  the  hotel  man  don't  chase 
me  out." 

"Why  don't  you  get  out  of  Pitkin  and 
go  to  Aspen,  or  some  other  live  camp? 
A  man  of  your  ability — I  say  it  without 
flattery — with  half  a  chance  ought  to 
do  well  in  the  newspaper  business." 

"I'm  stuck — staying  with  it  to  protect 
the  interests  of  others,  who  helped  me," 
I  replied.  "Every  man  over  there  be- 
lieves the  district  has  a  big  boom  coming. 
If  1  should  show  the  white  feather  now 
and  a  strike  is  made,  I  could  never  look 
my  friends  in  the  face  again." 

Saying  I  would  call  again,  I  arose  to 
go.  The  senator  was  at  the  table  writ- 
ing but  came  and  handed  me  an  envelope, 

226 


FOUR   YEARS   IN  GEHENNA 

saying  he  hoped  the  contents  might  do 
me  a  good  turn  and  added: 

"I  am  not  in  politics  now,  but  would 
be  an  ingrate  to  forget  the  the  wallop- 
ing the  Independent  gave  our  Arapahoe 
(Denver)  delegation  last  fall  for  the  stab 
in  the  back  it  gave  me.  And  I  have  ad- 
mired the  Pitkin  mining  news  reprinted 
in  the  dailies  from  your  columns.  When- 
ever there  was  a  little  strike  made  you 
did  not  slop  over  and  talk  about  a  second 
Leadville.  Several  outfits  tried  to  draw 
me  into  Pitkin  claims  that  haven't 
panned  out,  and  the  fact  of  their  'marvel- 
lous discoveries'  not  being  so  mentioned 
by  the  Independent,  did  not  help  them. 
The  'Tabor'  group  of  claims,  named  for 
me  if  you  please,  did  not  catch  me  for 
the  price  of  a.  stack  of  chips." 

Then  I  related  my  experience  with  a 
party  who  had  tried  to  work  him — how 
one  of  them  came  to  my  office,  and  re- 
marked with  an  almond-eyed  leer  they 
had  noticed  I  wasn't  printing  much 
about  their  great  strike,  which  was,  of 
course,  my  privilege,  but  added: 

"I  warn  you  now — if  you  haven't  any- 
thing good  to  say  for  us,  it  will  be  just 
as  prudent  not  to  say  anything." 

At  my  hotel,  on  opening  the  envelope, 
I  found  it  contained  a  fat  check  and  a 

227 


HANDSET    REMINISCENCES 

month's  pass  to  the  Tabor  grand  opera 
house. 

Those  who  remember  back  thirty-five 
years  may  recall  the  lurid  career  of  Mr. 
Tabor,  that  gave  him  national  notoriety 
— how  he  discovered  the  Little  Pittsburg 
mine  at  Leadville  and  "became  a  million- 
aire in  a  day;  how  he  was  appointed  a 
United  States  senator  to  fill  a  thirty-day 
vacancy,  and  while  at  Washington  mar- 
ried a  noted  beauty  from  Leadville — the 
ceremony  being  attended  by  a  blare  of 
trumpets  and  followed  by  a  princely 
feast  at  which  cabinet  officers  and  sena- 
tors were  guests.  But  much  that  was 
said  at  the  time  and  afterwards  uncom- 
plimentary to  M;r.  Tabor  was  mere  news- 
paper gossip.  He  was  a  long  way  from 
being  all  bad.  More  than  any  other  man 
he  aided  in  the  early  upbuilding  of  Den- 
ver, erecting  several  fine  business  blocks, 
and  aided  every  worthy  project  for  the 
city's  advancement.  He  was  a  good 
business  man,  honest  and  square  in  poli- 
tics. His  besetting  sin  was  political  am- 
bition, which  ^unprincipled  schemers 
took  advantage  of  to  rob  him  right  and 
left,  and  he  died  leaving  little  for  his 
heirs  to  quarrel  over.  His  wife,  whom 
the  world  said  married  him  for  his 

228 


FOUR   YEARS   IN   GEHENNA 

wealth,  stayed  with  him  to  the  end — in 
adversity  his  truest  friend. 

When  the  campaign  of  1884  was  on, 
there  was  at  least  something  doing  in 
Pitkin  politically.  Cleveland  had  been 
nominated  against  Elaine,  a  lively  state 
contest  was  impending  that  meant  the 
tapping  of  a  barrel  of  money,  and  in  Gun- 
nison,  county  the  Democratic  court  house 
ring,  as  the  then  county  officers  were 
called,  were  scheming  and  working  re- 
gardless of  expense  to  succeed  them- 
selves. As  it  proved,  they  had  to. 

In  the  county  were,  eleven  newspapers 
— nine  alleged  to  have  been  Republican 
and  two  Democratic.  One  of  the  first 
things  the  ring  did  was  to  change  this 
lineup,  so  that  when  the  papers  got  down 
to  work,  behold,  nine  were  Democratic 
and  two  Republican.  The  Gunnison 
Daily  Press  and  the  Independent  were 
true  to  their  colors.  Sheafor  switched 
of  course  and  got  his  share,  of  the  pie. 

If  the  opposition  had  got  down  to  ac- 
tive work  early,  there  might  have  been 
a  different  result  than  what  happened. 
In  the  last  week  of  the  fight  it  was 
shown  by  sworn  statements  that  where- 
as at  the  end  of  four  years  in  office  from 
the  organization  of  the  county,  the  Re- 

229 


HANDSET    REMINISCENCES 

publicans  had  left  a  debt  of  $77,500,  the 
Democrats  in  two  and  one-half  years  in- 
creased the  indebtedness  to  nearly  $500,- 
000,  during  which  a  tax  of  26  mills  was 
levied.  Much  of  the.  debt  thus  increased 
was  over  legal  limit.  The  county  was 
flooded  with  worthless  warrants — said  by 
the  "ins"  to  have  been  mostly  issued  on 
account  of  road  building. 

In  the  face  of  these  facts  the  ring  ticket 
was  elected.  How  the  trick  was  turned, 
the  methods  by  which  Pitkin  was  chang- 
ed from  a  nominal  Republican  majority 
to  fifty  for  the  the  ring  will  illustrate. 
It  may  also  give  a  pointer  to  future 
combinations  of  patriots  wherever,  w,ho 
have  either  to  win  out  or  go  to  the  pen. 

Though  all  the  saloons  had  been 
bought  up,  on  the  day  before  election 
several  barrels  of  villainous  free  whisky 
were  rolled  into  camp,  and  500  $2  bills 
were  placed  on  tap  at  the.  local  bank. 
During  election  day,  on  every  trail  to 
camp,  were  placed  "workers"  with  flasks 
and  "rolls,"  and  as  the  miners  came  down 
to  vote  each  was  handed  a  jolt  and  a 
little  spending  money.  When  the  polls 
closed  the  whole  camp  was  so  drunk 
there  was  only  here  and  there  a  man  who 
could  swear  how  'he  voted. 

"And  then  it  snowed." 

230 


POUR   YEARS  IN  GEHENNA 

My  last  hope  was  dissolved  and  be- 
came thin  air  by  the  election  result — 
otherwise  a  political  handout  now  and 
then  might  have  tided  me  over.  With 
hardly  the  price  of  white  paper  in  sight 
it  was  impossible  to  longer  float  the  In- 
dependent. So  a  couple  of  days  after  the 
polls  closed,  without  a  farewell  word 
to  m;y  subscribers — most  of  whom  were 
owing  me — 1  packed  my  grip,  and  leav- 
ing the  office  exactly  as  it  was  when 
the  last  paper  was  run  off,  turned  the  key 
over  to  Mr.  Slaght's  agent  and  board- 
ed a  train,  never  again  to  see  Pitkin — 
I  hope.  The.  office  building,  for  which 
in  1881  I  paid  $1,200,  could  possibly  have 
been  sold  in  1884  for  $75.  My  total  as- 
sets were  a  railroad  pass  and  $14  in  cash. 
Liabilities  nearly  $9,000. 

When  my  esteemed  contemporary 
started  his  new  sheet,  he  boasted  among 
his  cronies  that  he  would  arun  the  tend- 
erfoot over  the  divide  within  ninety 
days."  As  things  turned  out,  I  now  de- 
voutly wish  he  had.  It  was  the  irony  of 
fate  that  beckoned  me  to  Pitkin,  then  fet- 
tered me.  Sheafor  hit  the  trail  when  he 
had  eaten  his  election  money.  Just  fancy 
his  calling  me  a  tenderfoot,  when  I 
'had  roughed  it  on  the,  Comstock  twenty 
years  before! 

231 


HANDSET    REMINISCENCES 

At  Denver  my  first  work  was  digging 
from  the  space  box  $200,  with  which  to 
discharge  an  overdue  note  to  the  Ameri- 
can Type  foundry.  Shortly  after  the 
payment  John  Creswell,  their  agent, 
came  to  me  and  said  he  had  told  the 
company  of  the  circumstances  under 
which  the  note  had  been  paid,  and  in 
return  was  authorized  to  say  that  when- 
ever I  wanted  a  new  plant  I  could  have 
it  on  my  own  time  and  without  interest. 

About  ten  days  after  I  crawled  out  of 
"Gehenna,"  a  most  kind  letter  came  from 
Mr.  Slaght:  "Don't  lose  your  grip,"  he 
said.  "Keep  a  stiff  upper  lip.  Browse 
around  until  you  are  rested  up.  Don't 
go  back  to  the  mountains.  Find  some 
growing  town  in  the  valley  that  needs  a 
paper  and  I'll  start  you  in  it  with  a  new 
outfit — for  a  daily  if  you  want  it.  You 
will  come  out  on  top." 

Tlhat  letter  was  an  outpouring  of  sym- 
pathy, good  will  and  good  fellowship, 
straight  from  the  heart  of  one  of  God's 
noblemen.  At  that  very  time  Mr.  Slaght 
was  at  his  wit's  end  to  stave  off  his  own 
importunate  creditors. 

I  had  to  reply  that,  while  deeply  grate- 
ful for  his  disinterested  kindness,  I  was 
disgusted  with  trying  to  get  ahead  in  the 
publishing  business  'and  would  go  back 

232 


POUR   YEARS   IN   GEHENNA 

to  my  old   trade,  probably  not  to  leave 
it  again. 


Between  Pitkin's  gobs  of  gloom  were 
many  streaks  of  sunshine. 

There  were  weeks  and  months  togeth- 
er of  cloudless  skies.  The  pure  moun- 
tain air,  charged  with  health-giving 
ozone,  was  exhiliarating  ;  the  grand 
scenery  was  uplifting  —  if  one.  could  only 
live  on  it.  With  gun  and  hook  and  line, 
the  sportsman  could  load  his  table  with 
game  and  "speckled  'beauties." 

The  hills  seemed  full  of  mineral,  for 
there  was  rich  float  everywhere  ;  and 
wherever  two  or  three  wiere  gathered  to- 
gether discussing  the  outlook  it  was  rare- 
ly they  dispersed  without  expressing  re- 
newed hope  that  the  future  had  great 
things  in  store.  Then,  more  than  other 
'communities,  all  mining  camps  are  fa- 
vored wjith  a  devil-may-care,  happy-go- 
lucky  class,  who  see  the  bright  side  of 
everything,  whose  cheeriness  and  fun 
brace  up  the  faint-hearted,  and  tend  to 
banish  forebodings  and  borrowed 
troubles. 

I  recall  many  side  incidents,  funny  and 
otherwise,  that  happened  while  I  was 
running  the  Independent. 


HANDSET    REMINISCENCES 

Mjost  people  never  tire  of  listening  to 
the  strange  antics  of  mountain  rats.  I 
have  wondered  at  the.  wherefore  of  their 
cussedness,  in  the  quaint  huts  of  the  an- 
cient cliff  dwellers  and  in  mining  tun- 
nels a  thousand  feet  underground.  They 
cannot  steal  the  hole  a  miner  has  drilled 
for  a  shot,  but  content  themselves  with 
rilling  it  with  their  droppings  while  he 
is  off  shift. 

George  Barker,  hardware  merchant, 
was  easily  the  dude  of  the.  camp,  but 
rated  a  good  fellow.  Included  in  his 
well-kept  togs  was  a  pair  of  fancy  danc- 
ing pumps,  that  he  took  great  pride  in 
wearing  at  all  the  public  hops. 

One  night  when  there  was  to  be  a  big 
event  George  rigged  himself  up  in  gor- 
geous array — of  course  hoping  to  "witch 
sweet  ladies"  with  his  swell  slippers. 
Reaching  under  the  bed  for  them,  he  was 
amazed  to  find  one  was  filled  with  oats. 
His  sleeping  room,  at  the  back  of  the 
store,  was  kept  locked  and  the  only  way 
to  account  for  the  difilement  was  to  as- 
sume that  some  one  had  used  a  pass  key. 
With  blood  in  his  eye  he  accused  the 
clerk  of  having  become  too  d — — d  fam- 
iliar in  entering  'his  private,  room  and 
playing  this  dirty  trick.  An  old  miner 
who  sat  by  the  fire  warming  his  shins, 

234 


FOUR   YEARS   IN  GEHENNA 

let  George  blow  off  a  while,  and  then 
suggested  "rats,"  which  explained  the 
mystery.  They  did  a  clean  job,  dropping 
not  a  kernel  or  a  speck  of  dust  on  the 
floor  or  in  the  other  shoe. 

The,  Independent  in  its  next  issue  un- 
dertook to  give  a  cheerful  account  of  the 
incident,  stating  the  grain  was  emptied 
into  a  four-quart  measure  and  rilled  it 
level  full.  Tihe  item  did  not  seem  so 
funny  to  me  when  George,  who  prided 
himself  on  his  small  feet,  ordered  out  his 
ad. ;  and  it  was  six  months  before  he 
came  back. 

'Date  one  fall  a  couple  of  prospectors 
went  up  one  of  the  trails  to  do  some  as- 
sessment w'ork,  taking  a  months'  grub 
and  supplies.  Included  was  a  box  of 
stearine  candles,  necessary  in  under- 
ground work,  which  were  duly  stored  un- 
der the  bed.  On  going  to  the  box  one 
day  it  was  found  that  every  candle  had 
disappeared.  This  was  a  serious  matter, 
for  not  a  lick  of  work  could  be  done  with- 
out, and  lack  of  them  meant  a  long  tedi- 
ous trip  through  deep  snow  for  a  new 
supply. 

'Near  by  Was  the  cabin  of  a  young  fel- 
low also  doing  assessment  work — the  only 
other  person  on  the  mountain  so  far  as 

235 


HANDSET   REMINISCENCES 

the  boys  knew.  He  had  picked  up  a  bad 
reputation  by  being  suspected  of  various 
and  sundry  light  fingered  tricks.  They 
having  no  doubt  that  he  was  the  candle 
thief,  caught  up  a  rope  and  started  for  his 
place,  bent  on  summary  vengeance.  If 
he  had  taken  half  they  could  have  for- 
given him,  but;  hogging  all  was  too  much. 
His  cabin  was  nearly  bare  of  supplies  and 
comforts,  but  behold,  under  his  cot  was 
found  a  big  pile  of  candles  neatly  stacked 
up.  Just  as  the  discovery  was  made  the 
supposed  thief  came  in  from  his  tunnel. 
He  stood  amazed,  and  for  a  minute  not 
a  word  was  spoken.  Then  one  of  the 
boys  said: 

"Frank,  if  you've  got  anything  to  say 
or  a  message  to  leave,  spit  it  out,  'cause 
were  going  to  string  you  good  and 
plenty.  What  made  you  take  all  we  had?" 

He  hesitated  a  moment,  then  his  eyes 
filled  with  tears. 

"It's  about  those  candles  I  presume," 
he  began.  "They  are  not  mine,  and  so 
help  me  God,  I  never  saw  tnem  until 
now." 

"Don't  talk  off  that-a-way,  neighbor. 
What  do  you  take  us  for?  Don't  waste 
your  time?" 

"I'm  not  caring  so  much  what  you  do 
with  me,"  he  continued,  indifferent  to  the 


FOUR   YEARS  IN   GEHENNA 

interruption,  but  don't  make  a  bad 
break." 

He  drew  a  knife  from  his  pocket  and 
threw  it  down. 

"I'm  not  afraid  of  both  on  ye,  when 
it  comes  to  a  show  down;  but  let's  look 
into  this  here  business.  Wouldn't  I  be  a 

d d  fool  to  crib  all  your  stock,  when 

I  could  have  took  part  and  probably  you 
wouldn't  have,  known  anything  about  it? 
Now  I've  this  to  say:  Since  my  old 
mammy  died  last  spring  I've  'been  differ- 
ent from  what  I  was.  Since  then,  if 
either  on  ye  have  heard  a  word  agin  me 
it  was  on  just.  I've  been  thinking  of 
hiking  back  to  God's  country  as  soon  as 
I  can,  but  if  this  'ere  ain't  cleared  up 
right,  you  may  do  what  you  please  with 
me  an'  I  won't  kick." 

He  was  so  seriously  in  earnest  the  boys 
decided  to  look  the  ground  over,  though 
confident  nothing  would  come  of  it. 

The  three  started  for  the  other  cabin, 
to  begin  a  search  from  there.  On  the 
way  they  noticed  that  the  only  visible 
footprints  between  the  two  cabins  were 
those  just  made;  but  a  few  feet  above 
this  trail  was  a  nearly  straight  line  in  the 
snow  that  might  have  been  made  by 
dragging  a  shovel  handle.  When  this 
mysterious  line  was  traced  to  the  boy's 
cabin  and  to  a  small  hole  between  the 

237 


HANDSET    REMINISCENCES 

logs,  one  of  them  suddenly  threw  up  his 
hands  and  exclaimed: 

"Well,  damn  my  skin  if  it  wasn't  rats !" 
Then  there  was  hand-shaking  and  cigars 
for  three,  followed  by  the  best  dinner  the 
place  afforded.     After  that  the  supposed 
thief  and  his   accusers  were  inseparable 
friends — like   the     "Three     Guardsmen," 
"One  for  all  and  all  for  one." 
*     * 

An  old  miner  who  had  some  claims  in 
Skeleton  gulch  one,  afternoon  went  down 
to  camp  for  supplies,  leaving  his  partner, 
a  young  tenderfoot,  alone  in  their  new 
cabin.  It  was  an  all-night  trip,  as  the 
trail  was  bad.  The  young  man  was  a 
"skeery"  duck,  and  wtould  shy  even  when 
the  gruesome  name  of  the  gulch  was  men- 
tioned. 

On  returning  in  the  morning. the  old 
man  found  his  partner  in  a  frenzied  state, 
with  his  personal  belongings  packed  and 
ready  to  pull  out.  He  said  the  place  was 
haunted,  relating  how  shortly  after  he 
turned  in  strange  noises  began  and  con- 
tinued at  intervals  all  night,  and  he  had 
laid  shivering  in  a  cold  sweat  and  with 
covered  head  listening  to  them.  It 
seemed  to  him,  he  said,  like,  murderous 
weapons  were  being  dropped  from  the 
roof,  dragged  the  length  of  the  floor  and 
dropped  again  into  a  cavern. 

238 


FOUR  YEARS  IN  GEHENNA 

The  old  man  laughed  loud  and  long. 

"Why,  yer  hair  is  standin'  on  end  yet, 
kid,"  he  said,  "an'  dang  my  buttons  if  I 
don't  believe  its'  a  turnin'  gray,  all  on 
account  of  rats." 

Then  he  went  to  where  there  was  a 
knothole  in  the  floor,  pried  up  a  board 
land  brought  forth  spoons,  knives  and 
forks  that  a  thieving  rodent  had  taken 
from  the  table. 

'As  'he  stood  by  the  stove  turning  flap- 
jacks for  breakfast  the  old  man  eyed  the 
knothole  and  mused: 

"Blessed  if  I'll  ever  tell  what  satisfac- 
tion those  rascally  divils  git  outen  hankey 
pankey  plays  like  that  'ere.  They  can't 
eat  'em,  that's  certain. 


Along  in  the  winter  of  1883  a  couple 
of  tenderfe.et,  lured  by  reports  of  rich  dig- 
gings, tramped  into  camp  and  planned  to 
stay  there  until  spring  and  try  their  luck. 

A  tinhorn  and  bad  actor,  lying  around 
broke  and  unable  to  get  away,  conceived 
an  audacious  scheme  to  work  the  new 
arrivals,  and  at  once  set  about  it.  Just 
onside  the  town  limits  was  an  immense 
conglomerate  rock  the  length  of  a  small 
cabin.  Having  a  gable  like  a  roof,  in 
shape,  it  presented  a  striking  resemblance 
to  a  dwelling.  It  was  under  several  feet 

239 


HANDSET   REMINISCENCES 

of  snow — not  a  color  of  rock  being  in 
sight — and  to  complete  the  likeness  some 
one  had  crawled  up  at  the.  rear  and 
crowned  it  with  a  joint  of  stovepipe. 

"Red"  asked  the  strangers  to  have 
something  at  his  expense,  and  stood  off 
the  barkeep. 

"Are  you  boys  going  to  stay  here  some 
time?"  he  asked. 

"Yes;  we  plan  to  try  prospecting  for  a 
while,"  said  one. 

"That  so?  Well  you'll  make  it  all 
right.  Lots  of  gold  around  here.  Stop- 
ping at  a  hotel?" 

"Yes." 

"You  ain't  on.  What's  the  use  of  get- 
ting shut  of  your  plunks  that  way,  when 
there's  nothing  to  do  an'  you  can  bach  for 
a  fraction  of  the  cost  ?  Get  a  little,  cabin. 
Then  you'll  have  not  only  a  place  of  your 
own  to  turn  into,  but  it  won't  cost  much 
and  you  can  save  the  price  in  a  few 
weeks." 

"We've  been  thinking  about  doing 
that  very  thing." 

"Do  it  sure.  Here,  barkeep,  let's  have 
another — this  is  my  birthday.  BV  George, 
sorry  I  didn't  meet  you  fellows  sooner. 
I've  got  just  the  little  shack  you  want, 
but  will  leave  for  Denver  on  the  early 
train,  to  be  gone  a  month  on  county 

240 


FOUR   YEARS   IN   GEHENNA 

business.  You  see  (in  an  undertone)  I'm 
a  deputy  sheriff." 

The,  suckers  said  they  were  very  sorry, 
having  no  doubt  they  would  want  the 
place. 

'"I  'just  completed  it  before  the  snow 
came  but  didn't  move  in,  expecting  to 
go  out  for  the  winter.  It's  10  by  14,  built 
of  hewied  logs,  tight  as  a  drum;  has  a 
shake  roof,  two  windows,  battened  door, 
no  floor — seldom  need  floors  in  camp 
cabins ;  and  there's  a  good  lot." 

One  of  the  strangers  then  treated,  after 
which  Red  took  them  out  in  the  bright 
moonlight  to  see  his  place,  saying  it 
wasn't  locked  and  they  might  want  to 
examine  it  during  his  absence.  He  pro- 
fessed great  surprise  on  finding  it  com- 
pletely buried;  but  said  it  was  because 
the  logs  were  green  and  the  first  fire 
had  yet  to  be  built  that  the  snow  hadn't 
melted. 

"You  see,  though,  it's  all  ready  for  a 
fire,"  he  said,  pointing  to  the  stovepipe. 

They  returned  to  the  saloon.  After 
chatting  over  two  or  three  steaming  hot 
ones,  Red  suddenly  exclaimed: 

"By  jove !  I'm  sorry  I  didn't  meet  you 
fellows  sooner.  I'm  short  of  stuff.  Thai 
thar  cabin  and  lot  would  be  cheap  at  $300. 
If  you're  a  mind  to  pay  me  a  hundred 

241 


HANDSET    REMINISCENCES 

cash  I'll  give  you  a  receipt  and  you  can 
have  the  layout  for  $200.  Pay  me  the 
•balance  when  I  git  back  and  I'll  have  a 
quit  claim  deed  made  out. 

They  came  through  like  lambs,  and 
Red  was  well  on  his  way  toward  the 
valley  when  they  awoke  from  the  effects 
of  his  birthday  hospitality. 


About  the  hour  when  graveyards  yawn 
one  bitter,  blustery  night  —  so  disagree- 
able. that  even  red-eyed  tot'ers  of  bottled 
spirits  were  loth  to  be'  about  —  the 
White  House  saloon  door  suddenly 
opened  and  in  fell  an  old  bum,  like  a  sack 
of  wheat.  He  not  only  fell  in,  but  sprawl- 
ing on  the  floor,  and  lay  there.  After 
gazing  a  minute  at  the  ceiling  as 
in  a  brown  study,  with  a  heavenly  smile 
he  closed  his  watery  eyes,  then  drew  a 
deep  sigh  and  became  apparently  dead  to 
the  world. 

It  was  "Irish,"  an  old  familiar  of  the 
camp,  whom  nobody  knew  anything 
about  except  his  nickname,  his  native 
wiit  and  abnormal  capacity  for  whiskey 
straight. 

Billy  Reese,  the  proprietor,  hadn't  had 
a  customer  for  two  hours  and  was  in  the 
act  of  closing  for  the  night.  But  he  al- 
lowed it  wouldn't  do  to  throw  even  Irish 

242 


FOUR   YEARS   IN   GEHENNA 

out  on  such  a  night;  so  being  a  practical 
joker  he  decided  to  have  some  fun.  From 
the  rear  Billy  brought  in  a  six-foot  plank, 
placed  it  on  a  couple  of  chairs,  and  over 
all  spread  a  wagon  sheet.  Then  by  main 
strength  he  lifted  the  apparent  cadaver 
on  to  the  sheet,  wrapped  it  until  all  that 
was  visible  was  the,  face,  smeared  that 
with  billiard  chalk  until  it  would  have 
made  a  corpse  shudder,  and  completed  the 
picture  by  placing  beer  caps  on  the 
eyes  and  lighted  candles  at  the  head  and 
feet  of  the  departed. 

A  caller  dropped  in.  After  taking  a 
drink  and  a  glance  at  the  uncanny  ex- 
hibit, he  of  course,  went  out  to  spread  the 
news. 

The  joke  proved  a  great  stroke  of  busi- 
ness for  Billy.  Several  saloons  closed  at 
once,  in  deference  to  the  memory  of  their 
deceased  patron,  and  soon  a  score  of  bar- 
keepers and  late  rounders  were  lined  up 
at  the  White  House  bar  asking  for  drinks 
and  how  it  happened. 

The  "taking  off"  was  startling  in  its 
suddenness,  for  Irish  had  been  the  rounds 
several  times  during  the  evening,  appar- 
ently in  usual  health.  Brief  eulogies 
were  spoken,  the  consensus  of  sentiment 
expressed  being  that  the  departed  was 
a  man  of  whom  it  could  be  said  he  had 
but  one  enemy — himself. 

243 


HANDSET   REMINISCENCES 

Some  one  called  everybody  up  to  take 
a  jolt  in  memory  of  the  silent  one,  and  a 
toast  had  been  given — "May  the,  old  boy 
have  a  pleasant,  journey" — when  there 
was  heard  a  rustling  in  the  corner  where 
the  corpse  lay.  There  sat  Irish,  bolt  up- 
right, glaring  at  Billy.  His  quick  wit  had 
sized  up  the  situation. 

"I   suppose   ye  do   be  thinking  you're 

d d  smart,  Billy  Reese,"  he  shouted. 

May  be  ye  are ;  but  don't  kick  it  over  by 
lavin'  me  out  of  that.  Bring  me  four 
fingers  of  the  best  ye  have,  or  I'll  come 
and  knock  the,  dust  out  of  ye !" 

Billy  took  in  a  fat  wad  that  night,  but 
the  other  barkeeps  had  it  in  for  him  ever 
after. 

*     * 

If  in  any  week  Hank  Williams  didn't 
hand  out  a  "swell"  Sunday  dinner  at  the 
Pitkin  House,  it  was  because  his  "chef" 
was  on  a  skate  and  there  was  no  one 
but  himself  to  prepare  and  serve  it.  Reg- 
ular dinners  were  75  cents;  Sunday 
swells,  $1.00. 

One  day  Hank  came  into  my  office 
quite  excited. 

"I've  just  hired  the  dandiest  French 
cook  that  ever  struck  camp,'5  he  began, 
"an'  am  gonna  get  up  a  Sunday  feed 
that'll  knock  anything  previous.  I  want 

244 


FOUR   YEARS  IN  GEHENNA 

you  to  print  a  lot  of  "pograms"  (that 
was  what  he  called  a  menu),  and  sling 
into  'em  all  the  'parley  voo'  you  know 
anything  about." 

"I  savy  French  very  little,"  I  replied. 
"Off  course,  you  will  have  consomme  la 
royale."  I  now  recall  the  name,  of  but 
one  other  strictly  French  dish — "pate  de 
foi  gras." 

"What  the  h— 1  is  that?" 

"Geese  livers,  specially  prepared.  You 
can't  get  them  this  side  of  Denver,  if 
there." 

"Don't  fool  yourself.  I'll  send  the 
stable  boy  down  the  canyon  after  jack- 
rabbit  livers.  Nobody'll  know  the  differ- 
ence. Paddy  wha'd  you  call  'em  goes." 

"Then  I  forgot.  You  must  wind  up 
with  'cafe  noir.' " 

"You've  got  me  again." 

"Black  coffee." 

"Sure,  she  allus  goes,  in  French  or 
United  States.  You'll  think  up  a  lot  more. 
Then  in  the  center  I  want  you  to  print 
in  a  big  red  line,  'Mutton,  Mjutton,  Mut- 
ton,' in  French  if  you  can." 

And  he  wiinked.  It  had  already  been 
noised  about  that  the  carcass  of  a  rocky 
mountain  sheep — interdicted  by  law — 
was  cached  somewhere  in  camp.  All  den- 
izens of  the  hills  know,  or  ought  to,  that 

245 


HANDSET    REMINISCENCES 

the  flesh  of  this  almost  sacred  animal — 
so  scarce  it  is — is  the  sweetest  of  all 
meats. 

"You  ought  to  get  names  of  dishes  from 
the  cook." 

"That  duck!  He's  a  Kanaka— can't 
write  even  his  own  language — just  has 
a  long  mustache,  but  I'll  send  him  over 
to  tell  you  anything  he  may  know,  and 
am  gonna  trust  you  to  do  the  rest.  Don't 
ferget  to  say  'one  dollar  a  plate/  an' 
Henery'll  be  there  with  the  goods." 

Sunday  afternoon  the  dining  room  was 
crow;ded.  The  "pogram"  had  been  well 
distributed.  Everybody  was  on  to  the 
red  mutton. 

There  wlas  a  prolonged  delay  and  the 
guests  had  begun  to  get  fidgity,  when  old 
Hank,  sweating  like  a  hired  man,  swung 
open  the  kitchen  door  with  a  bang. 

"I  hear  it's  bein'  told  around  that  I'm 
employin'  a  fancy  French  cook.  Mlebby 
I  am,  an'  mebby  I  ain't ;  but  if  I  am  he's 
down  town,  drunk  or  a  playin'  stud  poker, 
or  both,  and  hain't  been  seen  around 
here  since  yestiday.  I  want  you  to  all 
understan*  that  Henery  is  a  doin'  this  'ere 
cookin'  hisself  an'  they  hain't  a  dam  thing 
comin'  up  but  mutton  and  pastry.  Any 
person  that  don't  like  my  style  of  fryin', 

246 


FOUR  YEARS  IN  GEHENNA 

stewin'  an'  bakin',  an'  is  off  his  feed  on 
that  account,  can  get  out." 

This  speech  brought  down  a  general 
hand-clap.  All  knew  how  to  take  old 
Hank  when  he  was  sore,  and  knew  he 
was  a  pretty  good  cook  himself.  So  no 
one.  stirred  and  the  dinner  wjas  all  right. 

But  the  Pitkin  House  having  many 
times  and  oft  announced  a  new  chef  just 
over  from  Paree,  who  didn't  materialize,, 
in  time  it  began  to  be  suspected  that  the 
"jolly"  proprietor  had  played  the  game 
to  the  limit. 


In  the  summer  of  1883  there  came  to 
Pitkin  a  young  Methodist  divine  —  not  of 
the  roaring  sort  —  just  a  plain,  earnest 
worker,  and  though  college  bred  and  a 
downeaster,  with  sense  enough  not  to 
bring  any  pulpit  starch  into  a  woolly 
community.  He  mingled  with  the  boys, 
adopted  their  speech  and  ways  as  far  as 
his  calling  would  permit,  and  was  popu- 
lar from  the  jump. 

One  of  his  first  moves  was  to  have  a 
lot  of  fir  poles  hauled  to  his  door,  and 
with  a  buck  saw  he  reduced  enough  of 
them  to  stove  length  to  last  a  year.  This 
made  him  solid  with  the  boys  ;  for  the 
idea  was  well  grounded  among  them  that 

247 


HANDSET    REMINISCENCES 

men  of  the  cloth  drew  the  line  on  any- 
thing they  recognized  as  real  work. 

An  old  parson  who  held  services  in  a 
little  log  chapel  down  town,  and  had  been 
kept  warm  in  winter  by  "chopping  bees" 
t — claiming  he  had  no  time  for  anything 
but  preparing  sermons  and  visiting  par- 
ishioners— after  this  example  was  allowed 
to  run  short  of  fuel.  He.  appealed  to  a 
neighbor  who  had  been  active  in  keeping 
him  supplied,  asking  if  there  was  any  one 
who  could  be  hired  to  saw  some  wood. 

The  neighbor  was  busy,  and  just  then 
couldn't  think  of  any  one,  but  said  laconi- 
cally, "You  might  try  the  new  elder." 

When  cold  weather  set  in  there  was 
hardly  enough  doing  to  keep  everybody 
in  plain  grub.  Booze  being  a  luxury, 
many  had  to  cut  it  out.  So  it  came,  to 
pass  that  the  saloons  were  less  frequent- 
ed, and  the  patrons  having  to  spend  their 
time  somewhere,  often  dropped  into 
the  new  elder's  evening  meetings  by 
dozens,  so  that  the  seats  were  pretty 
well  filled.  Mr.  Farnum,  as  I  will  call 
him,  while  not  conceited,  rejoiced  that 
•he  was  stirring  up  what  appeared  to  be  a 
spiritual  awakening,  and  planned  a  sea- 
son of  nightly  revival  meetings.  Sum- 
moning the  assistance  of  a  Gunnison  City 
divine,  they  went  at  it  hammer  and  tongs 

248 


FOUR   YEARS  IN  GEHENNA 

and  soon  had  the  front  seats  filled  with 
calloused  old  sinners  who  had  "come 
forward"  and  asked  to  be  prayed  for. 

One  day  Mr.  Farnum  came  into  my 
office  rubbing  his  hands  in  high  glee. 

"I've  got  nearly  fifty  new  ones  interest- 
ed," he  said,  "including  a  number  of  regu- 
lar old  soaks,  and  it  begins  to  look  like  the 
whole  community  is  listening.  After  the 
clean-up  here"  (clean-up  is  a  placer  min- 
ers' phrase),  "I  believe  I'll  try  to  get  a 
call  from  Leadville,  or  some,  place  where 
there  is  a  larger  field  for  my  style  of 
work.  I  never  thought  of  turning  out 
to  be  a  revivalist." 

When  spring  came  there  seemed  to  be 
at  least  forty  converts  who  had  symptoms 
of  becoming  faithful  and  earnest  work- 
ers in  the  new  vineyard — as  a  miner 
would  say  "of  stajying  with  the  New 
Jerusalem  prospect."  But  the  time  arriv- 
ing when  they  could  go  into  the  hills  and 
earn  a  little  spending  money,  sad  to  re- 
late, one  after  another  fell  back  into  the 
old  ways  and  shunned  the  elder. 

Along  in  the  summer  one  afternoon  I 
met  M)r.  Farnum  on  the  street,  looking 
woe  begone  and  as  if  about  to  shed  tears. 

"What's  the  matter?"  I  asked. 

"Look  over  there." 

249 


HANDSET    REMINISCENCES 

On  the  opposite  walk,  clinging  to  an 
awning  post  and  drunk  as  a  lord  was 
"Grease  wood"  Jones.  Grease  wood  was 
naturally  a  good  boy,  and  had  turned  into 
the  new  way  with  all  the  earnestness  in 
his  system. 

"•Out  of  the  whole  winter's  harvest," 
said  the  elder,  his  voice  trembling, 
"Greasewood  was  the  very  last  to  stay 
with  me.  All  fell  about  the  first  time 
they  were  passing  one  of  those  accursed 
hell  holes  with  money.  Now  you  see 
he's  gone,  God  forgive  him.  I  told  you 
I  thought  of  going  to  Leadville,  Not  for 
me — I'm  a  backslider  myself,  if  going  out 
as  soon  as  we  can  pack  our  belongings  is 
a  symptom,  but  not  to  any  other  min- 
ing camp." 

With  his  family  he  went — back,  I  pre- 
sume, to  his  native  heath  in  Maine. 
Anyway,  it  wias  the  last  I  ever  saw  or 
heard  of  my  dear  friends,  the  Farnums. 

4     * 

One  night  when  I  was  on  my  way  via 
the  Denver  &  Rio  Grande  to  my  home 
in  the  Quartz  creek  "crack  in  the  moun- 
tains," a  sensational  incident  happened 
suggestive  of  old  cowboy  days. 

In  the  coach  with  me  were  but  four 
persons — a  couple  of  Gunnison  mer- 
chants, a  dudish-looking  young  fellow  in 

250 


POUR   YEARS   IN  GEHENNA 

loud  togs  and  an  eastern  cap — at  a  glance 
a  tenderfoot — and  a  quite  large  woman 
wearing  a  veil. 

Just  as  we  were  pulling  out  of  a  wood- 
up  station,  two  rough  chaps  in  cowboy 
hats  and  wearing  skates,  burst  into  the 
rear  door  yelling  and  whooping. 

I  shall  always  think  that  on  seeing 
there  were  so  few  passengers,  and  sizing 
up  the  dude,  they-  were  slezed  with  an 
inspiration  that  here  was  a  chance  to 
pose  as  "bad  men."  Anyway,  both  flour- 
ished revolvers,  and  one  took  a  shot  at 
the  floor  just  as  the  conductor  entered 
the  front  door.  The  official  stood  not 
"upon  the  order  of  his  going,"  but  got 
out,  much  quicker  than  he  entered. 
"Scotty,"  so-called,  was  not  only  "dis- 
creet," but  knew  his  best  plan  in  such 
cases  was  to  wire  ahead  for  help. 

The  roughs  singled  out  the  tenderfoot, 
who  was  quaking  wjith  fear,  and  poking 
his  ribs  with  a  gun  made  him  get  upf  and 
dance  a  jig,  after  which  they  produced  a 
bottle  and  forced  him  to  take  a  strangle 
dose.  It  was  a  full  minute  before  he 
caught  his  breath.  Then  they  opened  a 
window  and  allowed  they  were  going  to 
throw  him  out. 

The  window  happened  to  'be  opposite 
the  veiled  woman.  The  rush  of  cold 

251 


HANDSET   REMINISCENCES 

night  air  seemed  to  electrify  her.  Sud- 
denly she  slipped  out  of  her  coat,  threw 
off  her  veil,  and  springing  at  the  largest 
of  the  toughs,  struck  him  with  her  open 
(hand  a  blow  on  the  face  that  could  be 
heard  in  the  next  car,  exclaiming: 

"You  d — d  dirty  coward,  give  me  that 
gun !" 

There  wias  a  cold  glitter  in  her  steel 
gray  eyes  that  might  have  cowed  a  brave 
man.  The  gun  was  meekly  handed  over. 
Then  she  jumped  on  to  a  seat  and 
shouted : 

"Nlow,  you  two-for-a-nickel  sports, 
sashay,  both  on  ye,  and  do  it  d — d  live- 
ly. Go  to  it!" 

After  they  had  shuffled  up  and  down 
the  aisle,  showing  they  really  knew 
how,  she  pulled  the  bell  rope.  As  the 
train  slowed  down  she  drew  a  bead  on  the 
big  fellow  and  yelled: 

"You  and  your  pardner  get  out  of  here, 
on  the  double  quick.  Git!'* 

Well,  you  ought  to  have  seen  those  bad 
m;en,  now  duly  sober,  tumbling  over 
each  other  in  a  rush  for  the  door.  When 
they  were  gone  the  woman  settled  into 
(her  seat,  shouting  with  laughter.  Then 
turning  to  the  merchants  she  said : 

"Well,  didn't  they  go  a  jumpin'  an'  a 

252 


FOUR   YEARS   IN   GEHENNA 

flyin' !"  Then  added :  "If  anybody  should 
ax  ye,  I'm  'Cheyenne  Em.' J; 

That  name  was  widely  known  in  the 
west.  Cheyenne  Em  could  rope  and  tie 
a  steer  and  "bust  a  broncho"  better  than 
any  other  cow  girl,  and  in  gun  practice 
plunk  an  ace  as  far  as  she  could  see  it. 
While  she  made  an  awful  tough  record, 
it  was  said  of  'her  that  she  was  always 
ready  to  ante  her  last  dollar  for  charity's 
sake — a  quality  said  to  "cover  a  multi- 
tude of  sins."  Her's  were  nothing  less. 


253 


Forty  Years  After. 

In  the  dog  days  of  1899,  needing  a  lay- 
off from  arduous  duties  as  printer,  editor, 
devil  and  otherwise,  I  made  a  trip  east 
that  took  in  my  old  "stamping  ground" 
(New  York  City),  Philadelphia,  Roches- 
ter and  other  points. 

Side-stepping  from  usual  routes,  by  a 
southern  branch  of  the  Denver  &  Rio 
Grand  railroad  I  went  to  Ojo  Caliente 
(warm  springs),  New  Mexico,  where,  is 
a  little  Miexican  hamlet  of  the  same  name, 
and  there  spent  a  delightful  month. 

There  are  two  springs,  flowing  side  by 
side,  near  creek  level  from  an  overhang- 
ing mass  of  rock.  Their  waters  are  high- 
ly charged  with  minerals;  but  so  differ- 
ent are  they  in  analyses  and  taste  as  to 
suggest  that  Dame  N'ature  has  here  easi- 
ly beaten  the  trick  of  the  prestidigitatettr 
who  draws  wine  and  plain  booze  from  the 
same  bottle.  From  this  outlet  to  her 
mysterious  laboratory  gushes  two  dis- 
tinct sparkling  streams,  not  half  a  dozen 
feet  apart,  in  volume  sufficient  to  run  a 
small  mill. 

Twienty  years  ago  Ojo  Caliente  was  a 
popular  resort  for  invalids  and  pleasure 

254 


FORTY  YEARS  AFTER 

seekers.  Instances  are  cited  of  its  re- 
markable cures  of  rheumatism,  kidney 
and  nervous  troubles.  A  pinkish  calcite 
precipitated  from  the,  waters,  when  pul- 
verized and  used  in  the  form  of  mud 
baths,  was  said  to  be  a  specific  for  viru- 
lent blood  diseases.  A  Denver  man  told 
me  in  confidence  he  had  been  the  victim 
of  a  syphilitic  taint ;  that  he  took  the  mud 
baths  for  several  weeks,  after  which  an 
expert  tested  his  blood  and  pronounced 
it  chemically  pure.  I  am  forced  to  ac- 
cept this  statement  with  reservations,  for 
there  were  no  appliances  for  giving  these 
baths  with  beneficial  effect. 

The  idea  of  mud  baths  having  a  heal- 
ing virtue  may  have  been  suggested  by 
the  story  of  the  Miaster  causing  scales  to 
fall  from  the  blind  man's  eyes  by  taking 
up  a  handful  of  earth  and  after  he  had 
spat  upon  it  applying  it  to  the  sightless 
organs. 

Earth  is  well  known  to  be  a  great  ren- 
ovator, by  virtue  of  its  drawing  quali- 
ties. Neighbor  Hayseed,  wise  to  this, 
when  he  argues  with  a  skunk  and  gets 
the  worst  of  it  by  no  means  casteth  forth 
his  raiment,  but  straightway  burieth  it 
for  three  days  and  three  nights,  even 
until  the  morning  of  the  fourth  day.  And 
when  it  is  brought  forth,  behold,  it  is 

255 


HANDSET   REMINISCENCES 

sweet  as  a  nut — purified  of  all  bad  odors 
— thanks  to  the  skunk.  And  it  would 
seem  that  this  treatment,  if  it  could  be 
applied,  ought  to  do  a  bad  breath  some 
good. 

While  hereditary  influences  seem  to 
prejudice  the  Yuma  Indian  against  bath- 
ing of  any  sort,  also  moving  from  the 
spot  "where  he  is  now  at"  less  seldom 
than  once  a  day,  he  has  frequent  use  for 
a  mud  application  that  is  as  effective  as 
it  is  unique.  When  "crums"  have  multi- 
•plied  until  his  hair  is  stiff  with  nits,  and 
scratching  becomes  too  much  like  work, 
he  plasters  his  head  with  adobe  and  lets 
it  dry  in  the  sun.  Then  he  removes 
the  poultice  by  jarring  it  loose — no  wa- 
ter, mind  you — and  the  vermin,  present 
and  prospective,  go  with  it — having  died 
a  horrible  death  from  asphyxiation. 

As  the  mudi  baths  are  a  western  inven- 
tion, the  manner  of  administering  them 
may  not  be  generally  known.  They  are 
given  daily  in  a  box  shaped  like  a  bath- 
tub, in  which  the  bather  lies  at  full  length. 
He  is  plastered  by  an  attendant  from  head 
to  foot,  even  to  his  face  and  hair,  with 
soft  mud,  then  must  not  stir  until  it  is 
thoroughly  dry.  He  is  then  cleansed  with 
hot  w*ater.  After  a  month  of  this  treat- 
ment the  patient's  system  is  supposed  to 

256 


FORTY  YEARS  AFTER 

be  not  only  completely  renovated,  but  he 
should  be  so  lithe  as  to  be,  able  to  jump 
a  seven-foot  fence  or  a  board  bill  of  any 
size. 

Whatever  virtues  the  waters,  mud  or 
no  mud,  may  carry,  when  I  wias  there  the 
place  as  a  resort  was  practicaly  deserted 
— due  probably  to  the  owner's  lack  of  en- 
terprise. He  was  giving  his  attention  to 
a  general  store — doing  a  good  business 
but  of  peanut  dimensions  compared  with 
what  the  resort  might  have  done  if  ad- 
vertised. 

During  my  stay  at  Ojo  Caliente  I 
divided  the  time  between  two  baths  a 
day  and  rambles  in  the  surrounding  hills, 
more  or  less  wooded,  where  there  were 
interesting  species  of  wild  song  birds  and 
plants  and  flowers  strange  to  me.  I  found 
cliff-dwellers'  relics,  various  minerals,  and 
a  ledge  of  izinglass  that  may  have,  been 
valuable.  Also  where  a  tunnel  had  been 
driven  twelve  or  fifteen  feet  by  cracking 
the  rock  with  heat — a  primitive  method 
said  to  have  been  employed  by  the  Span- 
ish conquerers  in  their  search  for  gold. 

Each  day  while  bathing  I  gave  my  face 
a  thorough  massage,  and  it  became  as 
free  from  wrinkles  as  an  egg.  There  was 
bloom  on  my  cheeks,  my  "'bible  back"  had 
shifted,  my  step  was  firm  and  elastic, 

257 


HANDSET    REMINISCENCES 

and  but  for  tell-tale  hair  I  might  have 
passed  for  a  proper  young  man. 

The  people  of  the  hamlet,  being  Mex- 
icans ("greasers"  in  the  vernacular), 
speak  broken  English  or  none  at  all,  and 
dwell  in  monotonous  little  adobe  houses 
with  few  windows  and  adobe  floors. 
They  live  close  to  nature,  are  genial,  gen- 
uine and  hospitable,  and  I  saw  not  one 
who  looked  as  if  eaten  by  envy  or  desire 
to  excite  the  envy  of  his  neighbors. 

By  invitation  I  attended  a  fandango, 
given  for  the  benefit  of  the  local  Catholic 
chapel — the  only  church  in  the  place.  It 
wlas  noticeable  at  this  gathering  that 
silken  ladies,  haughty  steppers  and  tilted 
noses  were  absent.  Duennas  and  elderly 
senoras — now;  and  then  one  enjoying  a 
cigarette — posed  as  wall  flowers  and  wore 
calicos.  The  young  senoras  and  senori- 
tas — many  of  them  models  for  a  studio 
— shone  in  bright  calicos,  simple  orna- 
ments, wild  flowers  and  tasty  hair  rib- 
bons. Only  nature's  bloom  tinted  their 
cheeks,  and  not  one  courted  envy  or  a 
diseased  spine  by  wearing  French  heels. 
Desire  to  outshine  or  snub  less  attractive 
turnouts  was  not  noticeable. 

I  failed  to  notice  a  single  signer  who 
looked  like  he  had  been  kept  awake 
nights  with  pleadings  that  he  mortgage 

258 


FORTY   YEARS  AFTER 

the  home  to  buy  an  auto,  or  was  try- 
ing to  support  a  $15  family  on  a  $10  sal- 
ary. All  seemed  prosperous,  contented, 
and  hospitably  inclined  toward  the 
stranger  within  their  gates.  There  were 
no  lady  killers  at  the  exits,  or  drunken 
rowdies  around  looking  for  trouble. 

Lest  you  may  have  obtained  an  unjust 
opinion  of  our  swarthy  southern  neigh- 
bors, this  is  written.  To  get  next  to 
the  cutthroat  variety  one  has  to  go  nearer 
the  equator. 

As  the  guest  of  an  esteemed  citizen  of 
the  hamlet,  Juan  Lopez,  accompanied  by 
'his  wife  and  daughter,  I  enjoyed  a  trip  to 
a  large  spring  ten  miles  up  the  creek.  It 
is  in  a  wild  but  interesting  part  of  the 
valley,  surrounded  by  rocks  and  jungle, 
with  cliffs  adjacent.  Half  of  Caliente 
creek  seems  to  outpour  from  this  spring 
of  pure  cold  water. 

Senora  Lopez  speaks  quite  good  Eng- 
lish and  was  chatty;  while  her  charming 
daughter — Senorita  Juanita  ("Rita"  for 
short) — home  on  a  vacation  from  a  sis- 
ters' academy  at  Denver — unspoiled  by 
contact  with  "civilization"  wore  a  plain 
straw  hat  without  a  feather,  talked  of 
something  besides  clothes,  ate  without 
a  fork,  and  sans  notes  or  urging,  sang 
a  pretty  Spanish  ballad. 

259 


HANDSET   REMINISCENCES 

We  passed  a  ranch  where  wheat  was 
being  threshed  under  horses'  feet.  In  an 
enclosure  like  a  circus  ring  half  a  dozen 
bronchos  moving  in  a  circle  were  tread- 
ing on  grain  until  it  was  clean  of  kernels, 
when  the  straw  was  replaced  by  other 
grain.  How  the  kernels  were  finally  gath- 
ered and  separated  from  chaff  and  soil 
did  not  appear. 

As  we  retraced  the  stream  the  whirr  of 
an  old-fashioned  gristmill  greeted  my 
ear — a.  reminder  of  the  happy  childhood 
days  I  spent  angling  in  the  old  mill  pond, 
within  sound  of  the  chug-chug  of  an 
overshot  wheel.  The  mill  machinery  had 
been  rudely  toggled  and  repaired  so  of- 
ten as  to  give  it  a  quaint  home-made 
look.  Flour  was  being  turned  out,  all 
right — coarse  and  rather  dark,  but  no 
doubt  healthier  than  the  boasted  fine 
white  product  of  the  high  patent  process. 

Nbt  many  of  my  readers,  I  imagine, 
have  ever  seen  an  old  hand  loom,  such  as 
grandmother  toiled  at,  making  fabrics 
that  kept  her  loved  ones  warm  and  add- 
ed to  the  family  income.  At  a  house 
Where  we  rested  I  found  one,  with  a 
wrinkled  old  dame  flying  the  shuttles. 
The  cloth  she  was  making  was  coarse, 
tout  I'll  venture  to  say  it  outlasted  three, 
suits  of  "store  clothes."  The  loom  with 

260 


FORTY  YEARS  AFTER 

its  rude  frame  and  parts  was  evidently 
made  many  years  ago. 

Another  house  where  we  halted  was 
a  veritable,  hive  of  industry.  In  one  cor- 
ner a  spinning  wheel  was  droning  a 
song  of  other  days,  that  appealed  to  me 
— in  fact,  had  I  been  reclining  at  ease,  it 
might  have  lulled  me  to  sleep,  as  grand- 
mother's so  often  did.  In  another  corner 
was  a  flax  genet  'busily  working,  while, 
at  the  back  raw  material  was  being 
dressed  with  hitchel  and  cards.  The 
group  also  included  two  or  three  old 
dames  dilligently  knitting.  To  me  this 
scene,  once  familiar  in  every  detail,  long 
since  veiled  in  the  misty  past,  was  more 
entertaining  than  any  tinseled  show. 

*     * 

While  at  the  springs  I  often  met  a 
Spaniard  who  spoke  perfect  English,  and 
told  of  having  spent  his  early  days  on  the 
coast.  I  learned  that  his  name  was 
Elmanuel  Cortez. 

"Were  you  ever  at  Virginia  City?"  I 
asked. 

«Yes,  in  1862,  but  only  for  a  few 
months." 

"Afterwards,  you  lived  with  a  sister  in 
the  Spanish  quarter  off  Jackson  street 
in  San  Francisco?" 

261 


HANDSET    REMINISCENCES 

"Yes,  sir,"  he  replied,  staring  at  me 
with  his  big  brown  eyes. 

"While  in  Virginia  City  you  served  as 
waiter  in  the  Virginia  restaurant,  and 
wlas  discharged  for  declining  to  take  an 
insult  from  a  customer." 

"That  is  right.  In  heaven's  name,  how 
do  you  know  these  things?" 

"Your  sister's  name  was  Barbara." 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Do  you  remember  that  when  you 
were  discharged  you  had  only  $4  coming, 
and  was  homesick  to  go  back  to  your 
sister?" 

"Indeed  I  do,"  as  if  yesterday. 

"You  told  your  trouble  to  a  patron  of 
the  restaurant  and  he  gave  you  some 
money." 

"To  my  dying  day  I'll  not  forget  that." 

"It  was  me  that  helped  you  out." 

He  grasped  both  my  hands,  and  tears 
came  in  his  eyes — also  a  twinkle. 

"And  do  you  mean  to  tell  me  you  are 
still  on  earth,  after  eating  that  Virginia 
grub?" 

"I  was  on  the  sick  list  for  weeks  with 
indigestion  and  sympathetic  heart  distur- 
bance, but,  as  you  see,  pulled  through." 

Emanuel  was  a  lad  of  15  when  I  knew 
him.  In  San  Francisco,  aided  by  his  sis- 
ter, (older  and  the  custodian  of  means 

262 


FORTY  YEARS  AFTER 

left  by  their  parents),  he  attended  an 
English  school  until  of  age,  when  they 
removed  to  New  Mexico  and  settled  on 
a  ranch — a  part  of  the  estate.  They  were 
now  living  in  the  village.  Emanuel  was 
a  'bachelor,  prosperous,  and  his  devoted 
sister  had  never  married. 

After  this  I  was  a  frequent  guest  at 
this  cozy  home — the  pleasantest  feature 
of  my  stay  in  Qjo  Caliente. 
*     * 

Walking  up  Broadway  one  evening 
with  a  friend,  when  near  Thirty-third 
street,  we  were  overtaken  by  a  shower, 
and  stopped  under  an  awning.  In  the 
basement  of  the  building  where  we  stood 
was  a  row  of  perfecting  presses,  and  I 
learned  that  here  was  the  office  of  the 
New  York  Herald.  It  was  a  strange  co- 
incidence that  of  all  buildings  in  the  great 
city  I  should  have  halted  at  this  one,  for 
while  living  in  New  York  for  years  nearly 
all  my  work  as  a  jour  printer  was  in 
the  Herald. 

What  a  jump  it  had  made  too!  It  was 
on  Ann,  Nassau  and  Fulton  streets,  but 
a  few  blocks  from  the  Battery,  when  I 
"douced  my  glim"  for  the  last  time  in 
its  cobwebby,  lamp-smoked,  ill-ventilat- 
ed composing  room.  And  what  a 
change  from  the  six  and  ten  cylinder 

263 


HANDSET   REMINISCENCES 

presses  of  forty  years  ago — thought  at 
that  time  to  be  the  perfection  of  mechan- 
ism'— to  the  marvellous  machines  before 
me !  One  of  these  could  deliver  folded  a 
hundred  papers,  while  a  ten  cylinder, 
with  a  roar  and  crash  calculated  to  terri- 
fy a  boiler  maker,  was  running  off  ten 
for  kids  to  fold. 

The  rain  continued  and  I  easily  per- 
suaded myself  to  make  the  Herald  a  visit. 
Entering  the,  reception  room,  in  charge 
of  an  elderly  retainer,  we  were  politely 
asked  our  errand. 

"Many  years  ago,"  I  replied,  "I  was 
an  employee  of  the  Herald,  and  am  curi- 
ous to  know  if  you  have  any  record  show- 
ing the  fact." 

"In  what  department  were  you?" 

"I  was  a  compositor." 

"In  this,"  he  said  pointing  to  a  well- 
filled  cabinet,  are  printers'  payrolls  dat- 
ing back  to  the  first  issue  of  the  Herald, 
in  1836.  In  what  year'  or  years  were  you 
here." 

"You  might  try  1859." 

In  astonishment  he  looked  me  over, 
from  head  to  foot. 

"Did  I  understand  you— 1859?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Why  man,  that  was  before  you  were 
born." 

264 


FORTY  YEARS  AFTER 

(Here  was  where  my  treatment  at 
Ojo  Caliente  began  to  get  in  its  work.) 

"Anyway,  please  look  for  J.  B.  Graham 
on  the  payroll  of  that  year." 

He  took  down  the  volume,  and  found 
my  name  on  the  first  page  examined, 
credited  with  a  7,800  string.  After  look- 
ing me  over  again  he  exclaimed: 

"Great  Scott!  That  w&s  forty  years 
ago,  and  you  don't  look  a  day  older  than 
35. 

"That  shows  the  preserving  effect  of 
being  a  Bible  class  leader,  and  being  al- 
ways at  home  and  ready  for  bed  by  9 
o'clock,"  I  said  jestingly. 

"Who  was  the  foreman  then?" 

"I  can't  recall  his  name  at  this  mo- 
ment. Wm.  Smythe  was  the  superin- 
tendent." 

After  a  cordial  handshake  with  my- 
self and  friend,  and  extending  congrat- 
ulations, he  touched  a  button  and  a  young 
man  appeared. 

"This  gentleman  is  an  old,  old  Herald 
printer,  who  set  type  here  twenty  years 
before  you  were  born,"  he  said.  "He  and 
his  friend  have  the  keys  of  the  office  to- 
night, and  are  welcome  to  remain  until 
weary  of  us.  Stay  with  them,  and  don't 
let  them  go  until  they  have  been  the 
rounds." 

265 


HANDSET    REMINISCENCES 

We  passed  into  an  editorial  room. 

"Well  glory  'be!  Hello,  Bingham." 

Thus,  Eugene  Young,  night  news  edi- 
tor— a  descendant  of  Brigham  Young 
— apostate,  excommunicant,  and  a  long 
way  from  the  "center  stake  of  Zion."  He 
knew  me  in  Utah  as  publisher  of  the 
Bingham  Bulletin. 

'Mr.  Young  now  learned  for  the  first 
time  that  in  other  years  I  had  labored  in 
the  Herald  vineyard — when  the  Elder 
Bennett  was  its  owner.  Getting  next  to 
the  fact  must  have  given  him  a  jolt,  for 
leaving  his  table  and  going  the  rounds 
he  introduced  me  to  everybody  in  sight. 

In  the  ad  room  the,  foreman  talked 
with  me  a  moment,  then  hit  the  stone. 

"Gentlemen,"  said  he,  "belly  up  here. 
This  is  Jerry  Graham,'  who  pounded  type 
on  the  Herald  back  in  1859." 

Che  after  another  the  boys  shook 
(hands  with  me,  noticeably  not  with  an 
extra-hearty  grip.  They  were  all  old- 
timers  in  the  office — stooped  and  bald  or 
gray.  It  is  a  fact  that  as  I  stood  there, 
fresh  from  the  pure  air  of  the  west  and 
its  mineral  waters,  I  was  easily  the 
youngest  looking  man  in  the  room. 

To  set  them  at  ease  I  inquired  about  a 
dozen  or  more  of  the  old  boys — Albaugh, 
Bob  Crabbe,  Bill  Smythe,  Tom  Bell,  Bill 

266 


FORTY  YEARS  AFTER 

Leaning,  Bob  McKechnie  and  others. 
All  had  heard'  of  Leaning,  at  one  tinie 
foreman  of  the  composing  room.  He  was 
no  piker — had  the  distinction  of  winning 
a  bet  of  $50  that  he,  could  set  125,000  in 
seven  days,  regular  time,  on  regular  hook 
matter — besides  getting  in  several  hours' 
overtime  at  stone  work.  When  I  men- 
tioned McKechnie  there  was  a  percipti- 
ible  stir.  He  had  also  been  foreman  and 
was  alive.  Though  he  had  long  since 
ceased  to  "showi  up,"  his  name  was  on 
the  roll  for  a  regular  weekly  check. 

The  boys  stood  for  a  fe;w  minutes  in  a 
knot  by  the  imposing  stone,  glancing  my 
way  and  evidently  discussing  me,  when 
I  heard  one  say: 

"You  hear  me — I  believe  he's  a  d d 

liar!" 

He  could  not  make  it  track  straight 
that  a  man  looking  less  than  forty  had 
worked  as  a  jour  on  the  paper  forty 
years  before. 

It  is  a  pertinent  commentary  on  the 
effect  of  the  long  hours,  nerve-exhausting 
work,  gas  light,  ill  ventilation  and  bad 
whisky  of  the  old  days,  that  of  the  hun- 
dreds of  men  with  whom  I  was  on  the 
Herald  around  1860,  not  a  single  one 
was  known  to  be  living.  MIcKechnie  first 
showed  up  about  1864  and  a  feeble  old 

267 


HANDSET    REMINISCENCES 

gentleman,  now  cutting  copy,  was  there 
in  1865.  The,  latter  did  not  remember 
me,  or  I  him. 

Very  few  of  the  old  morning  paper 
printers  lived  to  see  sixty  years.  Few 
passed  their  fortieth  year  in  robust  health. 
Those  who  criticised  them  for  being  dis- 
solute and  unreliable,  did  not  appreciate 
that  long  hours  of  type  setting  in  over- 
heated rooms,  with  their  heads  .twelve 
inches  from  hot  gas  lights,  was  a  deadly 
occupation;  but  they  might  have  suspic- 
ioned  something  was  wrong  had  they  no- 
ticed that  all  printers  looked  worn  and 
pale  as  cadavers. 

Though  never  but  once  having  seen 
"Jimmy"  Gordon  Bennett — than  helping 
him  to  celebrate  his  eighteenth  birthday 
—I  have  the  kindliest  feeling  for  him,  for 
his  good  heart  in  remembering  the  old 
boys  who  helped  to  make  possible  his 
fortunate  career  in  life. 

It  came  to  me  that  nights  to  be  shown 
a  sample  of  Mr.  Bennett's  philanthropy. 
When  my  friend  and  I  left  the  office, 
about  11  o'clock,  we  had  with  us  half-a- 
dozen  editors,  including  Mr.  Young. 
They  steered  us  against  a  cafe  where 
good  provinder  and  liquid  refreshments 
were  served.  . 

288 


FORTY  YEARS  AFTER 

The  feast  was  all  right,  but  most  en- 
joyable to  me  were  the  toasts  and  re- 
sponses. One  gentleman,  on  behalf  of 
the  Herald,  welcomed  me  back  to  my  old 
home  after  an  absence  spanning  the  aver- 
age age  of  man,  and  hoped  I  would  not 
find  the  many  changes  that  had  taken 
place  had  wiped  out  all  haunts  and  scenes 
of  reminiscent  days  around  which  my 
memory  still  pleasantly  lingered.  He 
said  that  after  all  my  years  of  wandering 
I  had  better  now  return  to  the  world's 
center,  resolved  to  settle  down  in  some 
quiet  part  and  end  my  days  there ;  that  if 
I  would  go  back  to  Bingham  and  throw 
my  plant  into  the  creek,  I  could  come  to 
a  Herald  telegraph  chair  and  hold  it  down 
as  long  as  I  would  want  it — the  only  con- 
dition being  that  after  warming  it  I  must 
show  up  weekly  when  the  ghost  walked, 
or  send  some  one. 

There  were  many  toasts,  each  moist- 
ened with  good  old  wine.  Though  a 
guest,  my  western  appreciation  of  such 
occasions  made  me  feel  like  a  piker,  so  I 
slipped  a  bill  for  "the  same"  to  a  waiter 
at  my  elbow.  When  we  were  parting  the 
gentleman  who  had  spoken  for  the  Her- 
ald laid  his  hands  on  my  shoulders  and 
feelingly  renewed  the  offer  he  had  made. 
As  he  spoke  one  of  his  hands  strayed 

269 


HANDSET   REMINISCENCES 

down  to  a  vest  pocket,  and  I  distinctly 
felt  his  fingers  inside.  I  was  not  in  a 
mood  to  question  their  perfect  right  there. 
I  stopped  at  the  old  Astor  house  and 
was  assigned  to  "President  James  Bu- 
chanan's suite" — during  his  administra- 
tion. Njearly  every  select  room  in  the 
old  hostelry  was  named  for  some  noted 
person  who  had  used  it  in  the  long  ago. 

In  the  morning  when  dressing  I  re- 
called the  circumstance  of  the  fingers  in 
the  pocket,  and  on  investigation  found 
there  the  identical  bill  I  had  slipped  to 
the  waiter.  Incidentally,  it  was  broken  to 
buy  the  usual  remedy  for  "hot  coppers." 

On  the  trip  I  visited  Philadelphia,  dur- 
ing the  reunion  of  the  grand  army  there, 
but  did  not  stop  at  Rochester,  for  rea- 
sons that  are  next  to  a  tender  subject  and 
may  not  lack  in  interest.  As  the  train 
pulled  into  the  Rochester  depot  I  stood 
in  a  sleeper  vestibule,  hesitating  whether 
to  halt  or  proceed  on  my  journey.  It 
was  this  way: 

M]y  last  visit  to  this  my  native  city 
was  twenty  years  before,  and  occupied 
about  eight  hours.  Arriving  one  Sabbath 
morning,  when  the  walks  were  filled  with 
people  on  their  way  to  church,  I  obtained 
a  carriage  and  riding  slowly  scanned  the 

270 


FORTY  YEARS  AFTER 

crowds,  hoping  to  see  familiar  faces. 
Most  of  my  'teens  were  spent  there,  and 
of  the  36,000  the  city  contained  when  I 
left  it,  at  18,  there  were  comparatively 
few  whose  features  were  not  more  or  less 
familiar.  After  a  score  of  years  there  was 
not  one,  face  I  could  recognize  as  ever 
having  seen  before. 

Driving  to  a  residence  where  some  rel- 
atives had  formerly  lived,  I  rang  the  bell. 
A  stately  looking  lady  of  four-score  years 
and  snow  white  hair,  bright  eyes  and 
well-preserved  features,  answered  the 
summons. 

"Do  you  know  me?"I  asked. 

"Do  I  know  my  own?"  she  exclaimed, 
placing  her  arms  about  my  neck. 

She  was  a  very  dear  old  aunt,  who 
had  been  like  a  mother  to  me.  Living 
mostly  in  the  far  west,  When  communica- 
tion was  not  as  easy  as  now,  I  had  been 
lost  to  her  for  many  years. 

During  a  short,  busy  visit,  I  learned 
that  of  all  my  relations  whom  I  partic- 
ularly cared  for  she  was  the  only  one  re- 
maining in  the  city,  and  so  far  as  she 
knewl  not  more  than  half-a-dozen  were 
alive. 

A  short  drive  brought  me  to  the  old 
Graham  homestead.  We  used  to  call  it 
two  miles  in  the  country — it  being  in 

271 


HANDSET   REMINISCENCES 

the  township  of  Irondequoit.  Now  it  was 
just  across  the  street  from  the  city  limits 
— zigzag-fenced  farms  en  route,  had  given 
way  to  city  lots  and  dwellings,  there 
were  sidewalks  all  the  way,  and  in  place 
of  the  rough  country  road  was  a  macad- 
amized thoroughfare.  The  past  was  a 
dream.  And  ah,  the  memory  of  it! 

T!he  old  home,  though  in  many  ways 
showing  the  footprints  of  time,  did  not 
seem  much  changed.  There  was  the  dear 
white  cottage  where  I  was  born,  the 
faded  red  horse  barn  where. 

"The  swallow  sang  sweet  by  its  nest  in  the 
wall," 

the  grain  barn,  the  cattle  sheds  where 
"Crumpie"  and  "Spot"  and  "Sally" 
munched  in  silent  content,  the  rail 
fences  and  bars — even  a  patch  of  potatoes 
and  early  corn,  as  was  wont  to  be,  along 
the  little  lane  that  led  to  the  house  yard 
— all  as  my  mind's  eye  had  held  them 
throughout  the  years. 

A  pudgy,  jolly-looking  German  met 
me  at  the  gate. 

"Is  there  any  one  by  the  name  of  Gra- 
ham living  in  this  neighborhood?"  was 
my  first  question. 

"Grame — Grame?    No,  sir." 

"Has  any  one,  by  that  name  ever  lived 
around  here?" 

272 


FORTY  YEARS  AFTER 

"No,  sir.  I  haf  been  on  dis  place  four- 
teen year,  and  know  everybody." 

We  stood  in  the  shade  of  a  cherry 
tree,  sprung  no  doubt  from  the  roots  of 
one  I  had  climbed  many  times  and  picked 
from  its  branches  bushels  of  fruit.  Near 
by 

"The    jassamine   clambered    with    its    flowers 
o'er  the  thatch" 

of  the  covered  well,  though  "the  old  oaken 
bucket"  and  its  clumsy  sweep  had  given 
place  to  a  miodern  water  lift.  I  thought 
of  the  many  dear  associations  twining 
around  the  mouldering  old  curb.  It 
seemed  as  though  my  sainted  sister  had 
stood  by  it  but  yesterday.  And  then,  the 
feeling  of  sadness  that  came  over  me  with 
the  thought  that  from  the  fading  cottage 
"the  voices  of  loved  ones"  would  never 
again  reply  to  my  call! 

"Mjaybe  some  one  of  that  name  has 
lived  in  this  very  house,"  I  continued. 

"No,  sir." 

"You  say  you  have,  been  here  fourteen 
years.  The  house  is  old.  It  might  have 
been  built  more  than  fifty  years  ago." 

"My  gootness!  Dot  house  is  no  more 
as  twenty-five  year  built,  no,  sir" — no 
dotfbt  having  in  mind  the  value  of  his 
belongings.  "Anyways,  my  neighbors 
never  tell  me  of  such  peoples." 

273 


HANDSET    REMINISCENCES 

"There  is  a  little  bedroom  in  that  cor- 
ner, is  there  not?" 

"Yes,  sir/' 

"When  a  boy  I  was  told  of  being  born 
in  that  room.  My  name  is  Graham,  and 
I  am  close  to  fifty." 

"Veil,  is  dot  so?" 

"This  ground  here  is  but  a  small  patch 
of  what  was  once  my  father's  farm. 
About  1820  he  took  up  150  acres  of  gov- 
ernment land,  and  later  built  all  the  im- 
provements here.  Take  me  through  that 
porch  door  to  the  orchard,  and  I  can  con- 
vince you  that  I  was  once  familiar  with 
some  things  that  were  here  when  you 
came. 

As  we  passed  through  the  portal  into 
the  shade  of  a  noble  old  apple  tree  I  noted 
that  here  was  little  change. 

"The  spider  o'er  the  lintel  weaves 

Its  labyrinth  of  silver  threads; 
The  sunbeams,  shining  thro'  the  leaves 

A  ground  work  of  mosaic  spreads." 

Most  of  the  orchard  s'howed  extreme 
age.  Here  and  there  were  new  trees — in 
places  only  stumps. 

"This  tree  where  we  stand,"  I  said, 
"was  one  of  my  favorites.  It  is  a  fall 
pippin.  The  next  is  a  greening  and  the 
balance  of  the  row  are  greenings." 

"Dot  iss  so." 

274 


FORTY  YEARS  AFTER 

"The  next  row  is  greenings,  the  next 
golden  russets,  the  next  spitzenbergs,  and 
the  rest  are  earlier  fruits.  Where  that 
tall  stump  is  was  a  pear  tree." 

Tears  glistened  in  the  old  man's  eyes. 

"I  vas  back  in  the  faderland  just,  and 
vould  gif  my  life  to  see  my  old  home 
vunce  yet,  as  you  see  dis  blace." 

Beyond  was  the  meadow;  but  farther 
on  "the  deep  tangled  wildwood"  had  given 
way  to  a  great  nursery  occupying  the 
rest  of  the  old  estate.  To  my  view,  only 
the  crumbling  homestead  was  left. 

"So  fleet  the  works  of  man  back  to  the  earth 

again, 
Ancient  and  holy  things  fade  like  a  dream." 

Should  not  man  himself  had!  first-place 
in  the  poet's  reverie?  For  though  my 
father's  works,  as  I  now  reverently  saw 
them,  inevitably  and  utterly  would  pass 
away,  a  generation  had  come  and  gone 
since  he,  laid  down  his  burden.  He  was 
constantly  at  the  crank,  turning,  turning, 
no  doubt  with  a  feeling  that  were  he  to 
let  go  all  that  he  had  wrought  would  fall 
to  ruin.  Yet  he  had  to  stop,  and  the 
world  moved  on. 

Were  he — so  of  us  all — a  closer  stu- 
dent of  nature,  how  much  lighter  his 
earthly  cares  might  have  been.  In  life's 
December  one  of  the  lessons  that  with 

275 


HANDSET  REMINISCENCES 

little  variation  must  come  to  us  all  is,  how 
much  more  joy  and  comfort  there  might 
have  been  if  nature  had  been  allowed  to 
have  its  way  and  we  had  turned  to  enjoy 
the  bright  and  beautiful  on  every  hand — 
vouchsafed  to  the  lowliest  as  to  the  'high- 
est could  we  but  see  it  so — and  thus  dis- 
missed a  host  of  wiearying  troubles,  not 
least  the  crossing  of  innumerable  bridges 
never  to  be  passed. 

I  must  here  relate  by  way  of  illustra- 
tion, an  instance  of  borrowed  agony 
shared  in  by  the  whole  township  of  Iron- 
dequoit — an  utterly  foolish  and  useless 
frenzy,  that  carried  not  a  few  to  untimely 
graves : 

"When  I  was  a  very  little  orphan,  but 
precocious  observer  else  it  would  not 
seem  as  if  yesterday,  the  town  was  en- 
veloped in  a  cloud  of  manufactured  woe, 
lowering  as  it  did  over  nearly  every  home. 
Missionaries  of  a  sect  called  Millerites — 
forebears  I  believe  of  the  present  Seventh 
D'ay  Adventists — had  converted  nearly 
everybody  to  the  belief  that  the  world 
was  about  to  cash  in.  The  day,  even  the 
hour,  was  set  wihen  the  great  game,  so 
many  millions  of  years  old,  would  turn 
up  the  box.  The  only  time  when  the  sin- 
less elect — who  in  a  year  had  not  cooked 
their  meals  on  a  Sunday — really  enjoyed 

276 


FORTY  YEARS  AFTER 

the  little  of  life  remaining  was  when  they 
had  wrought  themselves  into  a  frenzy  at 
prayer  meetings.  Then  they  were  really 
glad  to  feel  they  wiere  on  the  last  lap,  and 
would  shout  and  sing,  even  dance  as  well 
as  pray. 

Meetings  were  held  every  week  at  our 
house,  is  why  the  doings  came  to  be  so 
impressed  on  my  memory.  I  used  to 
climb  to  an  attic  window,  to  be  the  first 
to  tell  of  an  angelic  skirmish  line  actually 
in  sight.  Between  meets  the  gloom  was 
simply  awful.  The  date  for  the  pyrotech- 
nics was  drawing  nearer  and  nearer,  and 
the  poor,  haggard-faced  fanatics  would 
throw  chills  when  they  thought  of  the 
hour  when  the  band  would  toot  its  first 
blast. 

Several  dates  predicted  for  the  grand 
event  went  shy.  I  don't  remember  the 
excuses  giveni — probably  on  account  of 
changes  in  the  weather.  But  in  the  year 
1843,  as  it  came  to  pass,  it  was  finally 
given  out  that  Gabriel  would  positively 
blow  his  horn  at  9  o'clock  sharp  on  a 
certain  night  in  the  dark  of  the  moon. 
This  main  incident  is  particularly  recalled 
because,  I  remember,  it  also  came  to  pass 
that  a  large  assortment  of  enthusiasts  col- 
lected in  our  yard  with  ringed,  streaked 
and  speckled  ascension  robes  under  their 

277 


HANDSET    REMINISCENCES 

arms.  No  one  could  take  treasures  along, 
tout  they  just  had  to  have  robes — every 
soul  had  to  appear  before  the  throne  of 
grace  in  a  calico  shirt. 

As  there  was  no  sense  in  even  a  kid 
turning!  in  on  that  last  night,  I  had  to  sit 
up  with  the  rest. 

An  ominous  thunder  storm  with  dis- 
tant mutterings  was  gathering  in  the 
southwest,  and  but  for  lightning  flashes 
the  night  was  dark  as  a  pocket.  Sud- 
denly, at  five  minutes  before  time — if  the 
clock  was  right — to  the  southwest  in  the 
orchard  were  to  be  seen  four  lights,  in  a 
row  and  moving  rapidly  toward  the 
house.  I  still  think  I  heard  teeth  chatter- 
ing all  around  me  as  those  awful  though 
noiseless  lights  came  into  view,.  The 
whole  flock  dropped  to  their  knees.  The 
Ibell  wether  tried  to  lift  his  voice,  in 
prayer,  but  couldn't  make  it.  On  open- 
ing his  eyes  he  saw  four  belated  ewes 
clambering  over  the  yard  fence.  They 
had  cut  across  lots  to  "get  there,"  and 
be  translated  with  the  crowd. 

Some  time  later  there  came  a  heavy 
storm  and  great  snowdrifts  banked  in 
the  roads.  A  farmer  riding  in  a  sleigh 
made  his  way,  slowly,  until  he  came  to 
a  huge  bank  that  defied  further  progress. 
Climbing  to  the  top  he  found  that  an- 

278 


FORTY  YEARS  AFTER 

other  farmer,  his  team  stalled,  was  on 
the  other  side  with  shovel  in  hand  dig- 
ging- a  passage. 

"Hello!"  he  shouted.  "What  you 
doin'  down  there?" 

The  digger  was  evidently  a  non-be- 
liever, for  he  answered,  "I'm  a  figerin' 
that  there's  a  d — d  sight  of  difference  be- 
tween this  here  and  the  world  burning 
up." 

Just  think  of  the  borrowed  trouble,  the 
anguish  suffered  by  those  three-ply  saints 
during  the  years  that  Millerism  was  ram- 
pant! Broaden  this  reflection  and  what 
mortal  can  conceive  of  the  time  worse 
than  wasted — now  as  then,  and  as  it  al- 
ways has  been — trying  to  peep  through 
the  dark  wall  that  hides  from  mortal  view 
the  great  beyond,  while  prodigal  nature's 
wondrous  gifts  to  man,  that  make  a 
heaven  of  earth  if  not  repelled,  are 
brushed  aside  or  passed  unnoticed. 
4  * 

An  old  neighbor  and  his  good  wife — a 
lovely  young  woman  when  I  w'as  a  lad, 
now  feeble  and  white  haired — were  still 
living  on  their  farm  near  by.  They  were 
rejoiced  to  see  "Squire  Graham's  young- 
est son,"  and  would  not  listen  to  my  go- 
ing away  until  I  had  broken  bread  with 
them.  What  a  visit  it  was — during  which 

279 


HANDSET    REMINISCENCES 

I  learned  that  of  the  old  near  neighbors 
not  another  one  was  left! 

A  mile  distant  I  found  a  cousin  living 
in  the  farm  house  her  parents  had  occu- 
pied long1  before  she  was  born.  There  was 
only  the  homestead  left — the  farm  hav- 
ing been  parceled  and  sold  as  city  lots. 
She  wias  much  older  than  I,  but  had  tak- 
en a  lively  interest  in  me  as  a  suscepti- 
ble young  man — even  came  near  mating 
me  with  a  young  spinster  of  the  vicinity. 
She  tipped  the  scales  at  120  pounds,  was 
spry  at  a  dance  and  a  rare  single-handed 
talker.  Imagine  my  surprise  on  now  find- 
ing her  a  freak,  weighing  300  pounds,  only 
able  to  waddle,  about  with  crutch  and 
stick.  She  did  not  know  me.  When  told 
who  I  was  she  tardily  gave?  me  her  hand, 
with  a  common  place  word  as  if  greeting 
an  everyday  caller.  Only  by  many  re- 
callings  of  old  times  did  she  finally  awake 
to  the  occasion,  after  which  followed  an 
enjoyable  chat. 

*     * 

Is  it  strange  that  as  I  now  passed 
through  my  native  city,  viewing  it  per- 
haps for  the  last  time,  there  was  no  tug- 
ging at  my  heartstrings?  On  the  former 
occasion,  as  here  related,  of  the  thousands 
of  my  connections  and  people  whom  I 

280 


FORTY  YEARS  AFTER 

had  intimately  known  I  had  met  but  four. 
Had  it  been  a  week  day,  a  round  of  the 
print  shops  might  have  put  me  next  to  one 
or  more,  of  the  "old  boys ;"  but  not  likely. 
The  only  one  I  knew  to  be  living  was 
James  B.  Spinning,  who  is  now  a  pen- 
sioner if  living,  and  long  since  off  the 
active  list. 

What  food  for  reflection  there  was  in 
that  lonely  return  to  the  old  scenes,  and 
what  a  commentary  on  the  insignificance 
of  a  human  life.  M|y  father  was  easily 
the  most  successful  and  best  known  citi- 
zen of  Irondequoit  township.  His  farm 
was  a  model.  He  Was  justice  of  the  peace 
for  twenty  years,  and  as  a  country  attor- 
ney had  a  lucrative  practice.  It  was  said 
of  Squire  Graham  that  during  his  many 
years  as  justice  he  had  officiated  at  every 
wedding  in  the  town,  while  his  farm  was 
often  a  Gretna  Green  for  city  couples 
wanting  to  steal  a  march  on  their  friends. 
His  personal  records,  covering  many  hun- 
dreds of  pages,  are  in  evidence  that  he 
must  have  done  a  thriving  business  in  the 
hymeneal  line.  The  entries  varied  little 
except  in  names,  thus:  "Appeared  before 
me  this  day  Jehiel  Lambert  and  Spinster 
Nlancy  Mehitabel  Wilsie,"  etc.,  "and  were 
duly  united  in  the  holy  bonds  of  matri- 
mony." 

281 


HANDSET    REMINISCENCES 

Like  most  very  busy  men,  my  father 
was  no  doubt  so  inspired  by  his  import- 
ance as  to  believe  that  should  he  be  sud- 
denly called  to  let  go  of  the  crank  his  lit- 
tle world  would  cease  turning  and  all 
would  collapse.  Yet  within  a  week,  per- 
haps a  month,  after  his  heart  was  stilled, 
the  community,  the  farm  and  the  family 
were  getting  on  without  him,  and  the  ad- 
ministrator had  laid  plans  for  grabbing 
most  of  the  state — these,  so  absorbing  his 
attention  that  he  even  neglected  or  for- 
got to  set  a  stone  to  mark  the  grave. 

It  was  reserved  for  me  to  learn,  only 
forty  years  after,  that  no  one  knew  just 
where  my  father's  remains  were  laid; 
that  he  had  planned,  and  worried,  and 
wrought  for  the  most  part  apparently  in 
vain;  that  while  the  home  he  had  made 
was  still  there,  though  crumbling  and  go- 
ing "back  to  the  earth  again,"  perhaps  not 
six  persons  still  remembered  that  he  had 
ever  lived. 


282 


My  Last  Venture. 

On  the  25th  of  December,  1895,  I  pub- 
lished my  first  number  of  the  Bingham 
(Utah)  Bulletin,  of  which  I  had  a  week 
"before  become  "editor,  publisher  and 
sole  proprietor,"  without  paying  a  dollar 
down  and  with  nowhere  to  get  one.  It 
was  this  way: 

After  working  several  years  in  a  Salt 
Lake  job  office — averaging  three  to  four 
days  a  week  and  practicing  economy — I 
found  myself  in  debt  and  facing  a  season 
that  promised  to  be  uncommonly  dull. 

One  day  when  I  had  been  browsing  on 
gloom  until  in  a  reckless  mood,  I  met 
the  then  owner  of  the  Bulletin,  who  of- 
fered to  sell  it  to  me.  on  time,  as  he  was 
ill  and  wanted  a  change  of  climate.  I 
have  heard  since  that  he  was  love  sick, 
and  the  girl  had  married  "another." 

I  shied  at  even  the  fare  to  Bingham, 
but  went  with  him,  looked  the  layout 
over,  and  concluded  to  take  a  long 
chance. 

Bingham  Canyon,  as  the  camp  is 
called,  at  that  time  had  1,500  people, 
mostly  miners,  with  enough  weather- 
beaten,  tumble-down  shacks  to  cover 

283 


HANDSET   REMINISCENCES 

them.  There  were  some  quite  respectable 
business  buildings,  two  large  general 
stores,  a  meatmarket,  several  small  shops 
and  half  a  dozen  wide-open  saloons.  The 
camp  lies  for  miles  along  an  uninteresting 
canyon.  A  California  writer  once  happi- 
ly described  it  as  being  sixty  feet  wide 
and  nine  miles  long.  The  tourist  looking 
for  scenery  could  find  much  to  interest 
along  the  rocky  ridges,  overhanging  cliffs 
and  high  mountains  beyond;  but  there 
were  no  sidewalks  flanking  the  one  main 
street,  and  it  being  badly  cut  up  by  heavy 
ore  wagons,  one  had  to  stand  or  walk  in 
mud  four  to  six  inches  deep,  while  the 
extreme  upper  part  of  the  camp  could 
only  be  reached  on  foot  by  two  hours' 
of  walking  in  the  same. 

At  a  glance  the  outlook  was  forbidding. 
City  dailies  were  circulated  every  morn- 
ing by  10  o'clock,  making  the  field  for  a 
skinny  weekly  seem  bare  as  a  goose  pas- 
ture. "No  wonder  this  young  man  is 
feeling  unwell,"  I  thought.  "He  ought  to 
get  some  relief,  wherever  he  goes."  But 
I  put  in  a  couple  of  days  looking  around, 
and  saw  things. 

As  the  business  center  and  shipping 
point  of  West  Mountain  mining  district, 
Bingham  was  annually  sending  out  60,- 
000  to  65,000  tons  of  good  silver-lead  ore. 

284 


MY   LAST   VENTURE 

It  was  the  distributing  point  for  hun- 
dreds of  small  mines  and  prospects — 
many  of  the  latter  barely  scratched  over. 
It  was  the  terminal  of  a  twelve-mile 
branch  railroad,  said  to  be  making  more 
money  for  its  size  than  any  other  road 
in  the  United  States.  It  had  a  horse  tram- 
way several  miles  long,  actively  used  in 
connection  with  a  number  of  mining  pro- 
perties— one  with  an  alleged  $20,000,000 
product  record ;  and  in  the  district  were 
four  large  concentrating  mills.  Along 
the  creek  over  a  million  dollars'  worth 
of  placer  gold  had  been  recovered,  and 
sluicing  was  still  going  on.  In  many 
places  the  quartz  veins  had  run  into  base 
ore,  containing  copper,  added  to  which 
the  presence  of  J4  °f  1  Per  cent  copper  in 
solution  flowing  from  springs,  and  cop- 
per-stained rock  profusely  scattered 
along  some  of  the  ridges,  suggested  that 
sooner  or  later  the  red  metal  in  large 
quantities  was  liable  to  become  a  factor 
in  the  productions.  Not  least  among  fav- 
orable conditions,  there  was  always  good 
money  in  circulation,  independent  of  out- 
side financial  influences — which  decided 
me. 

A  half-worn  dress  for  a  7-column  folio, 
a  fine  hand  press,  an  imposing  stone,  etc., 
and  the  good  will,  whatever  that  might 

285 


HANDSET   REMINISCENCES 

have  been,  were  to  be.  mine  on  payment 
of  $800  within  two  years  — a  first  install- 
ment of  $200  being  due  in  ninety  days. 

My  first  number  took  well  and  quite  a 
lot  of  subscriptions  at  $3  came  in.  Ex- 
penses were  met  from  the  jump,  but  at 
the  end  of  three  months  nothing  had  been 
laid  by,  which  didn't  look  good  to  me. 
When  my  esteemed  predecessor  showed 
up  he  still  had  a  pain,  -but  thought  if  he 
could  go  back  to  his  old  home  in  Kansas 
he  would  soon  be  all  right.  I  told  him 
how  rough  things  were  coming,  but  for 
a  bluff  asked  what  he  would  take  cash 
down  and  call  it  square.  He  said  with 
$500  in  hand  he  could  start  a  small  busi- 
ness, and  offered  to  settle  for  that. 

I  had  a  slight  acquaintance  with  a 
gentleman  in  Salt  Lake  who  was  at  the 
head  of  a  Bingham  mine  that  was  ship- 
ping plenty  of  rich  ore,  selling  many 
shares  of  company  stock  above  par,  and 
reputed  to  have  much  money  on  hand. 
While  standing  on  a  city  street  corner 
one  day,  something  whispered  that  I 
should  go  to  him  and  make  a  bluff  with 
some  sand  in  it.  Five  minutes  later  I 
was  standing  by  his  desk. 

"Mr.  Blank,"  I  said,  after  exchanging 
compliments,  "I  want  $500." 

286 


MY   LAST   VENTURE 

"There's  lots  of  people  in  your  boat, 
now  same  as  always,  that  will  continue 
to  want,"  he  replied.  "What  for?" 

I  made  necessary  explanations,  look- 
ing him  straight  in  the  eyes.  It  seemed 
as  if  I  could  read  there  that  a  time  might 
come  for  him  when  it  would  be  real  nice 
to  stand  in  With  newspaper  men.  (On 
the  side,  that  time  came.) 

"Please  sit  down  a  moment  and  look  at 
the  paper,"  was  all  he  said. 

At  the  end  of  ten  minutes  he  handed 
me  a  check  for  $500,  and  a  note  to  sign, 
at  7  per  cent  payable  in  two  years.  In 
gratefully  thanking  him,  I  said  I  might  be 
able  to  find  a  responsible  friend  to  back 
the  note. 

"D— n  that!  You'll  meet  it  or  you 
won't.  I'm  satisfied  you  will  if  you  can/' 

But  for  this  whole-hearted,  disinterest- 
ed kindness,  my  Bulletin  enterprise  would 
have  failed. 

So,  within  twenty  minutes  after  that 
lucky  hunch  I  had  the  purchase  price, 
and  in  less  than  an  hour  the  sick  man 
had  shook  hands  with  the  sucker  and 
gone  on  his  way  rejoicing. 

Soon  afterwards  business  began  to 
pick  up.  There  was  a  steady  run  of  min- 
ing patent  and  other  legal  notices,  while 
commercial  printing  began  to  call  for  a 

287 


HANDSET   REMINISCENCES 

jobbing  outfit.  I  put  in  a  good  one,  with 
two  jobbers  and  an  electric  plant,  and 
was  fortunate  in  securing  the  best  and 
truest  all-around  country  printer  I  ever 
met. 

Lacking  special  mention  of  him — O.  D. 
Brainerd — this  sketch  would  not  only  be 
incomplete  but  evidence  of  ingrati- 
tude. Before  he  came  the  mechanical 
work  had  been  gone  over  by  a  string  of 
alleged  "all-arounds" — probably  as  good 
or  better  than  the  place  then  deserved. 

Brainerd  was  a  genius.  Asking  no 
questions  he  installed  the  electric  plant 
and  connections  so  they  ran  like  a  clock. 
He  knew  when  a  press  needed  "fixing," 
knew  how  to  do  it,  and  fixed  it ;  arranged 
the  office  to  the  'best  advantage,  and  bull- 
dosed  me  when  additions  were  necessary ; 
did  first-class  work,  laid  plans  to  "get 
there,"  and  never  failed  to  arrive.  When- 
ever there  was  a  snag  ahead  he  rang  up 
the  "old  man"  to  fill  two  or  three  gal- 
leys. 

"Los,"  as  we  called  him,  rarely  showed 
up  before,  9  or  10  in  the  morning;  but  he 
came  to  stay.  Then  he  would  leisurely 
limber  up  his  cob  pipe,  cuss  the  kid  a  few 
times  for  "leaving  feathers,"  tie  some  re- 
minders on  his  little  finger,  and  in  a  halo 
of  tobacco  smoke  proceed  to  pull  his 


MY   LAST   VENTURE 

coat.  Sometimes  he  did  not  show  up  at 
all  "next  day."  There  was  a  wide-open 
poker  game  in  every  saloon,  and  he  dot- 
ed on  sitting  in  along  in  the  evenings, 
quitting  about  midnight  or  when  broke. 
As  also  may  be  inferred,  the  bars  were 
wide-open,  all  the  time,  and  Los  aimed  to 
go  to  bed  with  his  boots  on  once  in  a 
while. 

Did  I  ever  call  him  down?  Not  me, 
During  five  years  there  was  never  a  jar 
between  us,  coming  or  going.  He  was 
absolutely  fair,  as  I  tried  to  be  with  him, 
and  took  as  much  interest  in  the  busi- 
ness as  if  he,  owned  it.  That  was  all  there 
was  to  it.  When  "musts"  were  on  the 
hook  they  would  come  off,  if  he  had  to 
work  all  night.  I  never  imposed  on  him 
in  any  way,  or  he  on  me.  I  paid  him 
over  the  city  scale ;  never  docked  him, 
and  he  never  charged  overtime.  Now  and 
then  when  the  ghost  walked  he  would  ex- 
cuse himself  like  this : 

"Boss,  I've  been  a  piker  this  week ;  but 
will  catch  even  when  there's  lots  to  do." 

For  two  or  three  years  Brainerd  was  in 
bad  odor  with  the  union — suspended — but 
squared  things  while  in  Bingham.  This 
is  how  he  queered  himself:  Work  being 
slack  in  Salt  Lake  he  and  his  wife — a 
good  compositor — went  to  Ogden,  a  one- 

289 


HANDSET    REMINISCENCES 

daily  town.  He  caught  on,  but  finding, 
as  he  stated  to  me,  that  the  office  was 
working  such  tricks  as  a  type  measure 
a  line  too  long  and  no  standing  time,  on 
the  second  day  denounced  the  chapel  and 
left.  Then  he  met  an  old  friend,  once  his 
side  partner,  who  was  running  an  open 
job  office.  The  friend  was  doing  a  fine 
business  and  offered  Brainerd  a  perma- 
nent job  at  $2  over  the  scale,  saying  it 
was  the  union  that  was  unfair,  not  he. 
Brainerd  could  well  believe  this  after  his 
late  experience,  and  determining  to  go  to 
headquarters  with  the  trouble,  accepted 
the  offer.  This  is  the  explanation  he 
made  to  me.  Of  course,  he  had  no  right 
to  take  the  bits  in  his  teeth  and  was  sus- 
pended— to  the  delight  of  the  sore  chapel 
members  whom  he  had  denounced. 

He  had  been  with  me  nearly  two  years 
before  I  became  acquainted  with  these 
facts.  All  this  time  I  had  supposed  him 
to  be  a  member  of  Salt  Lake  (No.  115). 
My  office  was  ostensibly  under  the  juris- 
diction of  that  union ;  but  as  most  of  the 
Utah  country  shops  were  at  that  time 
too  poor  and  ornery  to  enforce  union 
rules,  they  were  all  consigned  to  the,  go- 
as-you-please  class. 

Knowing  there  was  not  a  rat's  hair  on 
him,  I  determined  to  do  all  I  could  to 

290 


MY   LAST   VENTURE 

have  him  reinstated.  Some  of  the  Ogden 
members  fought  •  hard  in  opposing  him, 
but  it  was  finally  settled,  and  Los  be- 
came a  prominent  and  useful  member 
of  No.  115  after  paying  a  heavy  fine. 

I  was  so  impressed  by  the  red  metal 
possibilities  of  Bingham  that  the  Bulle- 
tin, while  I  had  it,  lost  no  opportunity  to 
"talk  copper."  M(y  first  number  had  this 
item  in  its  mining  news : 

IMPORTANT  ENTERPRISE. 

The  Bingham  'Copper  company,  recently  or- 
ganized to  develop  the  Starlus  group  of  mines, 
may  prove  to  be  promoting  one  of  the  most  im- 
portant enterprises  of  this  camp,  for  there  is 
abundant  evidence  of  the  fact  that  Bingham 
canyon,  or  the  section  drained  by  its  springs, 
is  the  depository  of  immense  bodies  of  copper. 
One  of  the  springs,  below  the  Starlus,  runs  a 
little  over  one  miner's  inch,  or  about  one  hun- 
dred pounds  per  minute,  carrying  14  of  1  per 
cent  copper;  and  as  each  minute  slides  down 
the  corridors  of  time  four  ounces  of  copper 
thus  runs  to  waste  from  this  one  spring  alone. 
In  all  probability  this  little  stream  was  run- 
ning at  the  dawn  of  the  Christian  era;  and  by 
computation  we  find  that  during  this  period 
268,861,000  pounds  of  the  red  metal  have  gone 
to  waste — enough  to  make  a  belt  for  the  world 
eight  inches  broad  by  one-sixteenth  of  an  inch 
thick,  and  have  4,000,000  pounds  left  for 
"buckles  and  spangles." 

"Where  there  is  smoke  there  is  fire,"  and 
where  there  is  such  a  steady  outpouring  of 

291 


HANDSET   REMINISCENCES 

copper  in  solution  there  must  be  a  marvelous 
storehouse  to  feed  it. 

It  was  several  years  later  before  active 
copper  mining  began.  Samuel  New- 
house  became  interested  in  a  group  of 
claims  known  as  the  Highland  Boy — on 
a  large,  gold  vein  of  low-grade — and 
forming  a  company  put  up  in  connection 
a  $75,000  cyanide  mill.  Several  month's 
of  running  at  a  loss  demonstrated  that 
copper  in  the  ore  made  cyaniding  out  of 
the  question.  Below  the  third  level  it 
contained  2  to  7  per  cent  of  the.  red 
metal. 

The  company  then  made  radical 
changes  in  its  plans — developed  the  vein 
down  to  the  seventh  level,  enlarged  its 
holdings,  built  a  $1,000,000  smelter  down 
in  the  valley  and  soon  began  to  coin 
money — meantime  having  changed  its 
name  to  the  Utah  Consolidated. 

•Mr.  Newhouse  relinquished  his  inter- 
est for  a  large  sum,  said  to  have  been 
$4,000,000.  His  experience  with  the  High- 
land Boy  furnished  a  rare  instance  of 
"miner's  luck."  When  buying  it  he,  had 
no  more  idea  than  a  rabbit  of  what  he 
was  getting.  Just  the  same,  he  had  the 
energy  and  courage  to  try  to  make  the 
best  of  a  bad  blunder — thus  becoming  the 

292 


MY   LAST   VENTURE 

pioneer  of  what  is  now  Bingham's  chiet 
industry. 

The  great  success  of  the  Utah  Con- 
solidated opened  the  eyes  of  other  hold- 
ers of  copper-bearing  ground,  and  in  an 
incredibly  short  time — but  half-a,-dozen 
years — Bingham  was  transformed  from 
a  declining  silver-lead  producer  to  a  red 
metal  center — in  the  west  second  only  tc 
Butte.  City. 

One  day  while  walking  between  the 
lower  and  upper  towns  into  which  Bing- 
ham is  now  divided,  I  fell  in  with  Dr. 
J.  B.  Lamb,  formerly  a  celebrated  chem- 
ist and  manufacturer  of  sulphuric  acid. 
We  were  on  an  immense  porphyry  dyke 
that  cuts  through  the  district — barren  of 
mineral  so  far,  I  believe,  as  any  one  then 
knew.  'He  said  to  me: 

"This  rock  under  our  feet  contains  from 
1  to  2  per  cent  of  disseminated  copper. 
I'm  not  saying  this  to  every  one,  but  hav- 
ing tested  many  samples  know  what  I'm 
talking  about.  In  the  lake  region  ore  of 
even  less  value  is  being  treated  and  big 
dividends  from  it  declared.  Some  day 
this  great  dyke  will  cause  a  stir  and  de- 
velop great  mines." 

He  was  forecasting  "wiser  than  he 
knew." 

293 


HANDSET    REMINISCENCES 

Within  a  few  days  E.  A.  Wall,  who 
had  operated  for  years  in  Bingham  with 
varying  success,  located  the  Dick  Mack- 
intosh and  Clark  claims  near  where  the 
•doctor  and  I  had  stood  (acting  on  such 
a  hint  from  him  as  I  had  received).  He 
put  a  couple,  of  men  at  work  on  the 
ground  with  instructions  to  drive  a  tun- 
nel straight  into  the  hill  until  they  were 
told  to  stop. 

They  had  'been  digging  a  month  when 
one  day  Mr.  Wall  called  and  found  they 
had  turned  from  the  true,  course  several 
points. 

"What  in  thunder  are  you  fellows  do- 
ing!" he  exclaimed.  "Are  your  eyes 
crooked?" 

"Well,"  said  one,  "we  ran  into  such 
good  indications  back  there  I  thought 
that  by  turning  we  might  encounter  a 
vein." 

"Vein !  Who  said  anything  about  a 
vein?  You  hike  back,  straighten  this 
work  out,  and  keep  it  straight  or  call  for 
your  time." 

These  men,  old  miners,  did  not  know 
they  had  been  running  in  so-called  ore 
all  the  time,  and  would  have  gone  out 
into  the  open  to  laugh  if  told  they  were 
doing  preliminary  work  on  what  was  to 
be  one  of  the  greatest  copper  mines  in 
the  world. 

294 


MY   LAST   VENTURE 

'Mr.  Wall  shrewdly  saw  before  him  a 
possible  great  opportunity,  and  was  sin- 
gularly fortunate  in  securing  the  atten- 
tion of  capitalists.  Having  satisfied  him- 
self by  experimentation  that  the  big  dyke 
contained  a  paying  proposition  of  untold 
extent,  he  located  a  group  of  claims  and 
succeeded  in  selling  it  to  what  is  now  the 
Utah  Copper  Company.  The  transaction 
made,  him  a  multi-millionaire. 

The  new  owners  were  active  mining 
men  with  plenty  of  capital,  and  fortunate 
in  having  Colonel  D.  C.  Jackling  for 
general  manager.  With  great  pluck  and 
energy  Mr.  Jackling  inaugurated  opera- 
tions the  character  of  which  is  attested 
by  what  has  resulted. 

Brief  reference  to  what  this  company 
has  accomplished  turns  light  on  the  won- 
derful transformation  of  Bingham,  begun 
while  I  was  still  there.  It  began  active 
work  in  November,  1903 — about  twelve 
years  ago.  It  built  reductions  works  in 
Bingham  canyon,  which  the  ore  produc- 
tion soon  outgrew.  Then  it  installed 
two  immense  mills  at  Garfield,  twenty 
miles  distant — the  nearest  favorable  loca- 
tion— and  built  a  connecting  railroad.  Up 
to  July  last  it  had  mined  and  milled  31,- 
500,000  tons  of  ore — the  last  June  output 
having  been  22,000  tons  daily.  The,  gross 

295 


HANDSET   REMINISCENCES 

value  of  metal  production  to  June  1st 
was  nearly  $86,000,000,  and  dividends 
paid  were  in  excess  of  $23,000,000.  The 
indicated  ore  remaining  was  361,000,000 
tons. 

Considering  that  the  Utah  Copper 
Company,  almost  from  its  inception  the 
subject  of  bitter  and  persistent  adverse 
critisicm,  has  thus  made  a  record  rivaling 
the  wonders  of  the  Comstock  in  its  palmy 
days,  the  result  must  be  a  source  of  im- 
mense gratification  to  Mr.  Jackling  as 
well  as  humiliation  to  the  author  of  the 
attacks. 

There  are.  now  several  other  great  cop- 
per properties  in  Bingham,  though  of 
lesser  importance.  Compare  the  present 
with  the  year  before  copper  mining  be- 
gan, when,  as  stated  in  this  sketch,  after 
half  a  century  of  existence  the  camp's 
total  product  was  65,000  tons  of  silver- 
lead  ore ! 

The  altitude  of  Bingham^5,600  feet 
above  sea  level — affected  me  so  seriously 
that  my  physician  advised  me  to  leave 
the  mountains.  An  opportunity  offering, 
I  sold  the  Bulletin  and  removed  to  Salt 
Lake  City,  at  a  time  when  I  had  been 
privately  informed  that  millions  were 
about  to  be  expended  in  developing  the 

296 


MY   LAST   VENTURE 

new  mines.     Five  years  later  the,  popu- 
lation had  increased  to  6,000. 
*     4 

In  the  first  issue  of  the  paper  under 
the  new  management  was  a  scare-head 
sensation  reflecting  on  the  United  States 
Mining  Company,  owning  large  interests 
in  the  camp.  Its  stock  was  quoted  at  a 
high  figure — alleged  to  have  been  boost- 
ed and  held  up  by  a  coterie  of  sharp  Bos- 
ton men  of  unlimited  means.  A.  F.  Hoi- 
den  was  their  managing  director. 

The  attack  was  based  on  private  let- 
ters which  had  passed  between  Holden 
and  the  president  of  the  outfit — stolen 
for  a  consideration,  they  had  reason  to 
suspect,  from  the  safe  of  the  company's 
Salt  Lake  office — indicating  that  the  con- 
cern was  in  bad  lines  and  liable  to  unload 
and  leave  a  confiding  public  to  hold  the 
bag. 

(Without  consulting  a  spiritual  me- 
dium I  can  describe  the  light-haired  man 
wflio  stole  those  documents,  also  the  gray- 
haired  person  who  paid  roundly  for 
them.) 

The  publication  caused  consternation 
on  the  Boston  and  New  York  mining 
exchanges.  United  States  stock  went 
down  $5  in  a  day.  Something  had  to  be 
done,  quick;  and  the  sharp  clique  were 

297 


HANDSET    REMINISCENCES 

equal  to  the  emergency.  They  offered  to 
buy  all  stock  at  the  old  'price,  and  it  is 
said  soon  had  more  than  they  were 
yearning  for — about  all  there  was.  The 
ruse  worked  beautifully,  restoring  former 
confidence. 

Then  the  miraculous  happened,  for 
which  I  believe  Holden  managed  to  get 
the  credit.  The  company  held  an  option 
on  the  Centennial  Eureka  mine  in  Tintic 
(Utah)  district,  former  heavy  producer, 
gutted  of  about  everything  of  value  in 
sight.  Many  thousands  of  dollars  had 
been  expended  in  searching  for  a  new  ore 
body,  and  there  was  talk  of  giving  up 
the  quest  when  the.  superintendent  in 
charge — a  bright  mining  engineer — on 
his  own  initiative  swapped  ends  with  the 
work  and  ran  a  drift  in  a  direction  where 
neither  Holden  nor  any  one  else  but  the 
engineer  believed  there  was  a  stringer.  He 
cut  into  a  marvelous  deposit  from  which 
millions  have  since  been  taken. 

I  have  here  brought  in  twice-told  mat- 
ter, because  Holden  in  a  scurrilous  way 
drew  my  name  into  the  company's  scare, 
and  blackened  me.  In  Boston  at  the 
time,  it  behooved  him  to  do  something. 
As  soon  as  he  heard  of  the  Bulletin  ar- 
ticle he  went  to  the  mining  exchange 
and  there  denounced  the  editor  (mean- 

298 


MY   LAST   VENTURE 

ing  me,  though  I  had  disposed  of  the 
paper  and  was  in  California),  as  a  black 
mailer,  declaring  I  had  tried  to  work 
him  personally  and  was  now  only  after 
bigger  game.  This  ruse  is  said  to  have 
had  a  marked  effect  in  the  restoration 
of  confidence  that  followed. 

I  could  have  cinched  Holden  for  crim- 
inal libel,  but  only  with  the.  defendant 
in  Boston,  appealing  the  case  and  gum- 
shoeing. So  I  gave  it  up  as  a  probable 
costly  job.  The  Bulletin  had  numerous 
subscribers  in  Boston  and  New  York 
who  had  learned  to  respect  its  mining  re- 
ports. After  that,  though  out  of  business, 
I  got  a  leer  from  those  who  met  me. 
There  is  nothing  in  language  more  po- 
tent to  blast  a  man's  character  than  that 
one  word,  blackmailer! 
4  4 

Many  incidents  worth  relating  that  I 
must  leave  untold  occurred  in  Bingham 
during  the  years  I  was  there. 

There  is  little  in  mining  camps  of  the 
present,  or  among  their  present  people, 
to  remind  one,  of  the  romance  and  drama 
pictured  in  sketches  such  as  "The  Luck 
of  Roaring  Fork"  and  "The  Outcasts  of 
Poker  Flat."  Yet  acts  of  gallant  hero- 
ism, disinterested  sympathy,  foolhardy 
recklessness,  and  not  least  cussedness, 

299 


HANDSET    REMINISCENCES 

now  and  then  hark  back  to  the  days  of  the 
argonauts. 

Some  of  the  meanest  as  well  as  best 
people  I  ever  knew  dwelt  in  the  hills.  No 
one  ever  turns  up  there  with  the.  settled 
purpose  of  making  a  camp  his  permanent 
abiding  place.  If  a  man  has  a  brown 
streak,  or  is  all  mean,  in  the  wilds  he 
often  develops  a  propensity  to  indulge 
his  meaner  part,  play  advantages  and  get 
a  "stake"  no  matter  how,  with  the  view  of 
skipping  to  the  elsewhere.  Time  was 
when  such  characters  would  "assume  a 
virtue  though  they  had  it  not,"  out  of  a 
wholesome  respect  for  Judge  Lynch  or 
fear  of  being  given  so  many  hours  to  hit 
the  trail.  Now,  their  main  fear  is  offi- 
cers of  the  law — too  often  of  a  piece  with 
themselves  and  a  weakness  for  "stand- 
ing in." 

Shortly  after  I  went  to  Bingham  a 
young  man  recently  arrived  was  accident- 
ally killed  in  the  Highland  Boy  mine, 
leaving  destitute  a  wife  and  four  little 
children.  The  poor  mother  was  frantic 
and  in  despair.  Though  they  were  strang- 
ers, neighbors  not  only  gathered  around 
the  bereaved  ones  to  extend  sympathy, 
but  donated  a  handsome  sum,  with  which 
the  widow  was  enabled  to  equip  and 
stock  a  restaurant.  Many  went  out  of 

300 


MY   LAST   VENTURE 

their  way  to  patronize  her,  and  she  pros- 
pered. For  years  she  has  been  the  hos- 
tess of  a  large  hotel.  Her  children  have 
now  families  of  their  own,  while  she  has 
a  bank  acount  that  will  support  her  in 
ease.  How  different  it  might  have  been 
if  this  estimable  family  had  been  left  to 
the  mercy  of  less  sympathetic  communi- 
ties that  I  have  known,  in  states  where 
people  are  prone  to  think  of  the  rough 
denizen  of  the  hills  as  half  civilized. 
I  love  Bingham  for  that  noble  act. 


Ed  Cleary,  a  witty  Irishman  with  a 
rich  brogue,  and  Nick  Castro,  a  sharp- 
eyed  Greek  —  characters  whom  the  whole 
camp  knew  —  were  peaceably  disposed 
when  duly  sober  and  reckoned  pretty 
good  citizens.  One  night  they  put  on 
skates,  quarreled,  and  pounded  each  other 
until  separated  by  bystanders. 

About  midnight  Nick  adjourned  to  his 
cabin;  but  Ed,  having  had  the  worst  of 
it,  lingered  to  drown  his  chagrin,  like- 
wise meditate  revenge.  Having  cooled 
his  coppers  with  a  matutinal  cocktail,  he 
went  out  to  warm  himself  in  the  early 
sunshine,  and  was  leaning  heavily  against 
an  awning  post  when  Nick  came  riding 
by  on  a  broncho.  Without  a  word  Ed 

301 


HANDSET  REMINISCENCES 

pulled  a  revolver  and  pumped  a  couple 
of  holes  in  his  adversary's  hat. 

In  a  frenzy  of  rage  the  Greek  threw 
up  his  clinched  fists,  exclaiming: 

"Hi,  there,  what  you  do!  You  d — d 
fool,  you  will  kill  my  hoss!" 

His  concern  for  the  safety  of  his  mount 
without  thought  of  his  own  danger,  so 
challenged  the  admiration  of  Erin's  son 
that  he  threw  his  gun  at  a  passing  dog 
and  begged  Nick  to  join  him  in  a  friendly 
jolt.  They  drank  and  became  the  best  of 
friends. 

4     4 

A  man  with  a  "Greek"  accent,  natural- 
ly genial  in  nature,  but  with  habits  harden- 
ed and  calloused  by  weary  waiting,  was 
as  ungrateful  to  me  as  any  one  I  ever 
met. 

He  had  a  hunch  from  the  seventh  son 
of  a  seventh  son  that  some  time,  in  the 
more  or  less  distant  future  the  mines  of 
Bingham  would  make  him  rich.  So  he 
lost  no  opportunity  to  furnish  grub- 
stakes and  otherwise  put  himself  in  the 
way  of  getting  in  on  new  locations.  One 
after  another  of  his  several  part- 
ners, weary  of  always  waiting,  got  dis- 
gusted and  pulled  out,  leaving  him  sole 
owner  of  several  claims  that  were  better 
than  they  knew. 

302 


MY   LAST   VENTURE 

With  an  abiding  faith  in  printer's  ink 
this  man,  whose  surname  was  Flynn, 
made,  it  a  point  to  stand  in  with  the 
editor.  When  a  good  showing  was  open- 
ed in  any  of  his  holdings  I  was  sure  to 
be  steered  against  it,  and  made  notes  ac- 
cordingly; so  that  in  the  course  of  sev- 
eral years  his  items  aggregating  several 
columns  appeared  in  the  paper — some  of 
them  he  figured  ;being  as  bait  thrown 
out  to  buyers — in  other  words,  free  ad- 
vertising. 

One  time  Flynn  got  into  a  tight  cor- 
ner and  applied  to  me  to  help  him  out. 
He  had  never  seemed  to  appreciate  fa- 
vors— other  than  by  now  and  then  hand- 
ing me  a  bad  cigar — but  I  thought  him 
honest,  and  took  his  note  for  a  consider* 
able.  sum.  Several  years'  interest  had 
accrued,  when  opportunity  knocked  at 
his  door  and  he  sold  a  claim  for  $50,000. 
Then  he  removed  to  Salt  Lake  and  set- 
tled in  a  fine  home. 

Grateful  for  many  favors,  did  he  come 
a  running  to  take  up  that  note,  and  thank 
me?  On  the  other  hand,  when  I  at 
length  asked  him  for  a  settlement  he  in- 
timated that  the  paper  was  outlawed  and 
worthless ;  that  anyway  I  had  nerve  to 
dig  up  an  old  thing  like  that.  But  by  dint 
of  much  talking,  and  aided  by  his  good 

303 


HANDSET   REMINISCENCES 

wife,  I  succeeded  in  shaming  him  into  a 
settlement  at  a  shave  of  20  per  cent. 

This  instance  was  one  among  others  so 
contemptible  as  to  shake  my  faith  in  hu- 
man nature.  Yet  by  no  means  was  it 
necessary  to  go  about  with  a  search1  war- 
rant to  find  gratitude  and  whole-hearted 
friendship  in  Bingham.  Among  its  peo- 
ple are  some  of  the  best  it  has  been  my 
pleasure  to  have  ever  met. 
4  ± 

Isn't  it  singular  that  nowadays  no  one 
ever  sees  a  so-called  ghost,  or  reads  about 
ghosts  not  creatures  of  the  romancer's 
fancy,  while  two  generations  ago  belief 
in  such  things,  among  fanatical  and  ig- 
norant people  at  least,  was  so  broadcast 
there  were  few  who  would  not  affirm  they 
had  seen  them,  or  go  near  a  cemetery  at 
"the  dread  hour  when  graveyards  yawn/' 
unless  they  'had  to?  Looking  farther 
back — thousands  of  years1 — even  sacred 
writings  seem  to  indicate  that  wraiths, 
hobgoblins,  spirits  and  devils  were  then 
numerous  enough  to  outvote  real  flesh 
and  blood,  two  to  one. 

I  have  never  been  able  to  accept  any 
so-called  proof  that  there  is,  or  ever  has 
been,  communication  between  this  beau- 
tiful world  and  a  possible  next,  high  or 
low,  and  must  believe  that  natural  causes, 

304 


MY   LAST  VENTURE 

some  time  to  be  scientifically  explained 
and  understood,  have  ever  led  fanaticism 
to  imagine  it  "saw  things" — to  construe 
the  effect  of  late  heavy  suppers  into 
visions  and  prophetic  pointers. 

An  instance  of  telepathy  or  thought 
transference,  so-called,  was  the  only  dem- 
onstration bordering  on  the  supernatural 
— if  it  was  such — that  ever  came  into  my 
life.  It  revives  a  tender  memory,  and 
will  now  be  told  for  the  first  time.  , 

At  about  6  o'clock  on  the  first  night 
of  this  twentieth  century  I  was  sitting 
at  my  table,  writing,  when  there  came 
three  light  but  distinct  taps  on  my  office 
door.  I  called  "Come  in !"  but  immediate- 
ly went  to  the  door,  ten  feet  away,  and 
opened  it.  There  was  no  one.  there,  or 
near  by. 

It  was  a  moonlit  night,  so  I  could  see 
distinctly  up  and  down  the  street.  The 
air  was  so  cold  that  the  creaking  of  fro- 
zen snow  would  have  warned  me,  of  a 
footstep  on  the  veranda. 

A  letter  had  that  morning  informed  me 
that  my  only  brother  was  very  ill  at  a 
sanitarium  at  Battle  Creek,  Michigan. 
Strangely,  from  the  moment  I  arose,  a 
strong  impression  took  possession  of  me 
that  he  was  at  the  door — that  I  was  about 

305 


HANDSET    REMINISCENCES 

to  meet  him — and  my  hand  trembled  as 
I  raised  the  latch. 

My  living  quarters  were  in  the  same 
building,  and  a  door  stood  ajar  between 
the  office  and  the  sitting-room,  where  my 
wife  was  by  a  table  reading. 

"Did  you  hear  a  knock?"  I  asked. 

"Yes;  who  was  it?' 

"Stanley."  (That  was  my  brother's 
name.) 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"The  impression  that  my  brother  has 
been  here  is  so  strong  with  me  I  am 
trembling." 

"That  is  no  doubt  mere  fancy,  caused 
by  this  morning's  letter.  Did  you  see 
anyone?" 

"No.  There  was  no  one  near  the  door, 
or  I  should  have  heard  a  noise.  I  am 
convinced  we  are  soon  to  receive  more 
bad  news,  and  will  have  cause  to  remem- 
ber this  hour. 

Three  days  later  another  letter  came, 
saying  my  brother  passed  away  at  8 
o'clock  New  Year's  night. 

The  difference  in  time  between  Bing- 
ham  and  Battle  Creek  is  about  two  hours ; 
so  it  is  a  fact  that  the  change  came  to 
him  not  far  from  the  moment  when  we 
heard  the  rapping. 

I  have  a  theory  possibly-  accounting 
for  this  manifestation — presuming  it  was. 

306 


MY   LAST   VENTURE 

not  a  mere  coincidence.  After  my  broth- 
er had*  said  farewell  to  the  dear  ones  at 
his  bedside,  and  lay  dying,  what  more 
natural  than  that  his  thoughts  went  out 
to  the  companion  of  his  childhood?  Dur- 
ing our  younger  years  we  ate  and  slept 
together,  and  were  nearly  inseparable. 
There  was  no  joy,  pleasure  or  sorrow 
for  one  that  both  did  not  share.  He  be- 
came a  machinist,  I  a  printer.  When 
not  at  work  it  was  rare  for  us  not  to  be 
together.  He  at  length  married,  and 
I  went  to  seek  my  fortune.  Through  the 
many  years  following  we  did  not  often 
meet;  but  he  never  gave  me  to  think 
absence  dulled  his  affection  for  me.  On 
the  contrary,  in  maturity  the  ties  between 
us  seemed  stronger. 

I  do  not  pretend  to  account  for  the 
materialistic  part  of  this  manifestation — 
the  knock  at  the  door — if  it  was  really 
a  case  of  thought  transference.  I  neither 
believe  nor  doubt,  for  in  matters  hidder 
from  the  ken  of  mortal  man  of  what  avab 
is  it  to  say  "I  believe?"  Ingersoll  in  his 
scathing  criticisms  merely  ridiculed  so- 
called  religious  "beliefs."  He  did  not 
deny,  but  honestly  and  fearlessly  disposed 
of  the  whole  subject  when  he.  said,  "I 
don't  know." 


307 


